75 Games: Rise of the Mockingjay
by Gamemaker97
Summary: With tensions rising in the Capitol, unexpected drama in the arena and an unforeseen change in the rules, Katniss' Games had it all. But the Games that year weren't just about Katniss and Peeta. This is the story of the 74th Annual Hunger Games, from the eyes of the unlucky few who entered the arena that summer to play Panem's deadliest game.
1. Rise Up

**A/N: Welcome to my latest fanfic,** ** _75 Games: Rise of the Mockingjay!_** **This story can be considered a continuation of the themes used in my related** ** _75 Games_** **stories, most notably** ** _75 Games, 75 Victors, 75 Oneshots_** **.**

 **The fic will be a series of twenty-four oneshots spanning the 74th Hunger Games, each chapter told from the perspective of a different tribute. I'm sure several stories like this have already been published on this site, but here's my take, which will tie in with the background I've built up from my other Hunger Games fanfics.**

 **As inspiration for each chapter, I'll be using a song, found by pressing shuffle on my iPod and seeing whatever comes up first. Much like my older fics, I'll be quoting some of the lyrics I've used as inspiration and including the song in the chapter's title.**

 **My previous fics of this type had chapters only held in the arena, but to alleviate the repetition of eleven Cornucopia bloodbath deaths, I'm going to start at the reaping for this fic and move forwards from there.**

 **There isn't really anything else to say, so let the 74th Annual Hunger Games begin!**

* * *

 **"The more I stray the less I fear, and the more I reach the more I fade away**

 **The darkness right in front of me, oh it's calling out and I won't walk away."**

 **\- Dan Reynolds, 2017.**

* * *

 **Chapter One**

 **Nikola Vane (16), District 5 Male**

 **9.00 am, Sunday 12th July, year of the 74th Hunger Games**

 **Imagine Dragons - Rise Up (2017)**

* * *

"Nik! Get up, Nik!"

 _Please just let me go back to sleep..._

"Nik! It's nine o'clock already! Your father will be furious if you've not eaten before he's home!"

 _Any day but today..._

"Nikola Vane, you get up right now or I'll come in there and drag you to breakfast myself!"

"Fine, mum, I'm coming!"

I don't really have a say in the matter anymore, throwing the thin covers off the bed and springing to my feet. I'm never a morning person, but today is certainly one day I would rather spend in bed. It's the second Sunday in July. Reaping day.

I walk into our small bathroom, turn on the taps and splash water all over my face, desperate to cool myself as it runs off my face and splashes into our cracked sink. In the summer months, there's rarely a cloud in the sky; that's probably why we're the district that has to provide solar power to the rest of Panem. However, that does mean that it can be nightmarishly hot in the summer, a muggy heat that leaves you in a sweaty tangle with your sheets every night. At least, it does in the houses that can't afford air conditioning.

Walking downstairs, I find the rest of my family already halfway through their breakfast, my mother glaring daggers at me. I try my best not to look guilty as I sit down to a cold bowl of porridge. On the left is my older brother, James. He stares at the table as he eats, not communicating with the world around him. I can only imagine what is going through his head...

My younger sister, Rosa, has much more spring her step, barraging my mother with a slew of questions I can tell she doesn't want to have to deal with. However, Rosa is only eight; she still doesn't fully understand what's happening today. But that doesn't mean that James and I want to sit here listening to my mother explain what might happen to us down to the last detail.

I'm almost ready to leave the table when there's a knocking at the door and a weathered man in his late forties walks into our small dining room, his clothes covered in dust. Rosa runs over to him and hugs him around his waist. My mother straightens herself up, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"Any news?" she asks my father.

"I haven't had time to hear much - long shift at the plant. Didn't find much out on the way home though."

"Do you know who the mentors will be this year?" James asks. It is the first thing I have heard him say all morning.

"I don't think they've been announced yet," my father says slowly, ruffling Rosa's sandy-brown hair. "If I had to guess, I'd say the same as last year. Luke and Yvonne. I can't see old Dax mentoring if he can help it."

Years ago, when my parents' names were still in the reaping bowl, there would be four reaping bowls on the stage each year; two for the tributes, and two to pick their mentors from the available pool of victors. This all came to an end when I was young, when one of the mentors for District 4 had a mental breakdown just before the Games, and was in no shape to help his tribute. Ironically, his tribute, Finnick Odair, went on to win the Games, helped by his district partner's mentor, who took all the responsibility for both tributes. It didn't surprise me when the Gamemakers announced that the victors could decide between themselves who would mentor each year shortly after Finnick's Games; they wouldn't want something like that happening again.

"Well, then," James says slowly, still uncharacteristically quiet. "We'd better go and get ready."

* * *

It's a sweltering day once I step outside in my neatly-pressed and barely-worn shirt. I haven't worn it since last year's reaping. Much of District 5's terrain is dry and arid, with little vegetation. From our houses high up in the valley, we can see the dark stripes of rows and rows of solar panels disappearing down the valley into the distance. The sun beats down above us with little wind for protection, our boots kicking up dust as we descend to our district's centre. None of us speak as we walk. As usual on reaping day, my family never seem to know what they want to say to each other.

The square at the centre of District 5 is usually a quiet place, but on reaping day it's always packed. As usual, a temporary stage has been erected in front of District 5's sandstone Justice Building. Around the tired buildings at the square's edge, Capitol cameramen stand silent, their cameras trained on the stage, preparing to catch the day's action and broadcast it to the rest of Panem.

We're among the first to arrive, as James and I bid farewell to the rest of our family, queueing up for registration. A Peacekeeper takes our names and gestures wordlessly for us to head to the correct enclosures. We all know what we're expected to do anyway.

I find myself surrounded by a group of boys my age that I recognise from school, but don't know very well. We all stand silently, waiting anxiously for the clock on the Justice Building to strike eleven, for our portion of the reaping to begin. The reapings are staggered throughout the day, so that viewers in the Capitol can watch them all live, back to back.

As I stand silently watching while the square fills up around me, my thoughts constantly linger on James. As my family's only income is my father's meagre salary working at the power plants, James has been signed up for tesserae every year since he turned twelve. Despite my father taking on extra shifts at night (as he did yesterday), it's never been quite enough for us. So James has taken tesserae for each of us in our family every year; five additional entries for each Hunger Games. Now, aged eighteen, his name is in the reaping bowl forty-two times.

What really sucks is that only the weak and the desperate need to take tesserae; with those kids having increased odds of being reaped, it's no surprise the Careers win the Games nearly every year.

Next year, when James is too old for the Games, I will have to sign up for tesserae in his place. But for now, only five slips of paper in the reaping bowl already positioned at the centre of the stage will read Nikola Vane.

Eventually the time on the large clock ahead of me reaches eleven, and five people walk out of the Justice Building, to polite applause. One is our mayor, an old man named Shaw who's been mayor for my entire life. Another is our district's escort, a lively young woman called Cynthia with bubblegum-pink hair and a vivid yellow dress that is as radiant as the sun. Behind them come District 5's three living victors. Four of them take their seats at the back of the stage as Shaw steps forwards to the microphone at the centre of the stage.

Through his usual, repetitive speech, justifying the yearly Hunger Games and placing value in the lessons it is supposed to teach, I can barely hear him due to the pulsing of my heartbeat in my ears. I have never been good with nerves...

Eventually his speech is over, and Shaw finishes by reciting District 5's short list of victors, which hasn't been added to since before I was born. Just four of the seventy-three victors have come from our district.

Jared Parker, who won one of the very first Hunger Games, and died when I was young.

Dax Kennedy, a frail man in his sixties who looks at least a decade older. He's been in poor health for years.

Luke Ford, a man aged around forty whose wife died while he was away mentoring in the 71st Games. He's barely been sober since.

Yvonne Grady, a resourceful woman who won the Hunger Games the year before I was born.

After more polite applause for our victors that I find myself numbly joining in with, Cynthia steps forward, grinning as she launches into a speech about how excited she is to be in District 5, and how optimistic she is that this year's Hunger Games will be District 5's best ever.

After making the expected announcement that Luke and Yvonne are to be District 5's mentors for this year's Hunger Games, Cynthia moves over to the reaping bowl on her right. I sense a collective intake of breath as she rummages around, pulls out a thin slip of paper and carefully unfolds it.

"Ashleen Finch!"

I have a feeling I recognise the name, but it's not until I see her walking up the steps onto the stage that I put two and two together. She's a short, slender, red-headed girl in the year above me at school who has pointed features that make it look like she's always thinking hard about something. To her credit, she stands firmly beside Cynthia, who holds her hand high in the air, pausing for the customary few seconds to wait for volunteers. It's been almost a decade since we last had one, and it doesn't surprise me that nobody volunteers for Ashleen, either.

I don't know what to think about Ashleen being reaped. She was nobody I really knew, but she was a recognisable face around school, somebody I've run into at various points in my life. True, I don't really know her, and I'm definitely glad it wasn't one of my cousins, but-

"Nikola Vane."

 _Oh, no._

Time seems to stand still for a moment, and suddenly there are thousands of faces looking at me, staring at me. I had been so worried for James, I hadn't really thought about...

Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I take a deep breath and step slowly away from the boys around me, past the stoic Peacekeepers and up the metal steps onto the stage. My heartbeat is way too fast, the panic I feel surely visible even though I need to find a way to control it. In the past, promising tributes have lost hope of getting sponsors from breaking down on the stage. There's light applause as Cynthia raises my hand, but I listen past it, desperate for there to be a volunteer somewhere, anywhere, willing to take my place and get me out of this.

But the moment passes, and the mayor soon steps forward again, mandated by law to recite the Treaty of Treason after the tributes have been reaped. It seems to get longer and longer each year somehow, but this year it really takes an age. I look out forlornly at the crowd of young faces looking back at me, all secretly glad that I was picked, and not them. It doesn't take me long to find James near the front row.

Looking across at Ashleen, I watch her as her eyes scan the crowd. I wonder who she is looking for, what family she has in her life, wishing for her to make it back home.

I find myself in a strange cross between feeling sorry for her and anxious to prove I'm better than her. We're from the same district, but once the gong rings and the Games begin for real, we're enemies.

I realise I've been staring for too long when the mayor steps backwards, gesturing for me to shake Ashleen's hand. Despite how confident she looks, her hand trembles as much as mine. She tries to look me in the eyes, but her eyes are filled with a mysterious intensity I can't place, and leaves me feeling slightly unnerved.

I hear the Capitol anthem playing around the square and I relax my grip on Ashleen's hand, letting mine swing idly by my side. Then there are Peacekeepers around us, and I'm escorted from the stage with Cynthia and our new mentors, Luke and Yvonne.

The Hunger Games are about to begin.

* * *

 **A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! I'm still a little uncertain on this story as an idea, so any feedback would be greatly appreciated :)**

 **I hope to have a second chapter posted either tomorrow or the day after :)**


	2. September

**A/N: Thanks to Jemmie who reviewed the last chapter! The support is greatly appreciated :)**

* * *

 **"I just want you to remember**

 **Before you get carried away."**

 **\- Jean-Philip Grobler, 2012.**

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

 **Veronica Rowan (16), District 7 Female**

 **12.45 pm, Sunday 12th July, year of the 74th Hunger Games**

 **St. Lucia - September (2012)**

* * *

The thick oak doors of the Justice Building slam shut as my family disappears into the corridor behind me. Determined though I currently feel, I think there's a part of me that knows I'll never see any of them again.

I'd always known that, after my name was pulled from the reaping bowl, I would have a chance to speak to my friends and family before boarding my train to the Capitol. I just never imagined it would be so hard to condense a lifetime of emotion into just a few small minutes. I had always thought that, if I was ever forced to make this journey, I would know exactly what I wanted to say, but somehow the words just seemed so hard to come by.

I can hear footsteps down the corridor, which suggests to me that even though my family have left, my visits are not quite over. Apparently more people want to come and say goodbye to me.

A Peacekeeper opens the door without knocking and ushers an unusually quiet girl into the room. Her eyes are red and she's short of breath; it's no secret that she's been crying.

"Veronica," Jess says shakily, wiping her eyes with the heels of her hands before rushing over and launching herself into my arms. I'm taken aback by her forcefulness but cling on tightly as she hugs me, staggering as we both begin to shake, the tears I have been holding back for an hour finally threatening to show themselves. She's a few inches shorter than me, and for a moment I'm relieved that of the two of us, at least it's me that has to face the arena, before I remember exactly where I'm heading and how much everything else no longer seems to matter.

"The Peacekeepers said I don't have long," Jess continues, her wide brown eyes glistening as she looks up at me, her arms falling away nervously. She taps her feet erratically, a nervous twitch she's never been able to shake, not in all the years I've known her. "I'd never have thought this would happen to us..."

"I don't think anyone does," I say, walking away from Jess, pacing erratically. This lavish room in the Justice Building is the first of many temporary prisons that will hold me until my inevitable fate of the arena. Just the thought makes me feel claustrophobic.

"I know you're a fighter, V. I just know it," Jess says insistently, almost desperate, the pain in her voice so relatable it almost breaks me. I don't know if she's saying it to convince me or herself. Then before I can stop her, she's off again, ranting and crying about anything and everything, screaming about the unfairness of the world, showing signs of the fire in her that I've come to expect from over fifteen years of her living next door.

"Jess!" I say hurriedly, overhearing the click of Peacekeeper's boots outside, worried that something must be happening. I reach for her and grab her by the shoulders, turning her to face me again, looking into her eyes. Her hair is wild and tears drip from her chin onto her well-kept reaping dress. "I'm not going to die. I know it. I'll be fine. I'll find a way to get through this. You're not getting rid of me that easily."

Jess looks down for a moment, unable to meet my eyes, fumbling for something she's tucked into her dress; a small wooden model of a green woodpecker; the sort that roam abundantly in the hills around our district.

I look straight into Jess' eyes.

"No."

"You gave this to me once," Jess says firmly, pressing the woodpecker into the palm of my left hand. "Back when I was a little girl terrified of thunderstorms. You said to hold it close whenever I got to scared, so it would remind me of you, and how you were never scared of them. That if I trusted you and you knew nothing bad would happen, then I should know that nothing would happen to me, either."

I look down at the small woodpecker in my hand and remember the hours I had spent one stormy summer working on making it. I had to get my mother to help with the more delicate parts, as I wasn't very skilled back then.

"Now look at us," Jess continues, more shakily now. "We're both young women terrified of the Games. We're terrified of the arena, the Careers, the Capitol."

Looking away for a moment, staring into the stone walls surrounding us, I feel I can see where this going.

"You want this to be my token?" I ask.

Jess shrugs. "You're allowed one thing from Seven with you in the arena, and I couldn't think of anything better to bring you, for when you're stuck, or scared, or whatever happens. I mean, if you don't want to have it..."

"Of course I want it!" I grin at her.

Jess smiles back, blushes, and then does something I never expected. She runs both her hands through my hair and kisses me on the lips. For a moment, as she pulls away, neither of us know what to say, before Jess speaks up, looking nervously at her feet.

"I... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that." Jess begins to back away from me towards the door, her eyes glistening. "Whatever happens in the arena, I'll always love you Veronica, you know?"

"I know," I say shakily as the Peacekeepers come to greet her, unsure of what else to think, never mind what to say. I can only stand there as I hear the footsteps of my best friend disappear down the corridor, wondering if she had wanted it to be something more.

* * *

There is a short journey by car to our district's tired-looking station, the paint peeling from the crudely-built signs. All around us, swarms of reporters gather around me as I follow my escort and my district partner, Aspen, onto the sleek train awaiting our arrival. With cameras everywhere, it is as important to appear prepared here as it was on the stage at the reaping. I do my best to stand tall. Glancing across at Aspen beside me, he doesn't appear to want any contact with the world; he is quiet and withdrawn, as though the reaping has sucked the life right out of him.

In the long run, that statement could end up becoming accurate. I shudder as I try to beat away the thought.

Our escort, a calm and refined man called Marcus, makes us stand and pose for the camera for a minute before entering the train. The doors slide shut, finally giving us some peace from the media, and the train begins to move. Having never left the district before, this is my first time on a train, and for the first minute Aspen and I stand quietly, experiencing the new sensation, watching the trees fly past the window in a green haze. It doesn't take long for District 7 to sink towards the horizon, slipping away and out of sight for the first time in my life.

Suddenly I am aware of how far I will be from everyone I love, and dread rushes through me at the thought of taking on the arena by myself. Jess' woodpecker might be more valuable than I could have imagined.

It doesn't take long before the exhilarating motion of the train becomes mundane, and Marcus directs me to a large, lavish room that he tells me is mine for the day. That I can do what I like for the rest of the afternoon; eat what I want, wear what I want, do whatever I please, as long as I'm dressed and down the corridor for dinner at six this evening. As the afternoon passes I lie back on my bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to process all of the thoughts rushing through my head. I can hear shouting from along the corridor; in his privacy, Aspen is not taking his reaping as well as it had appeared to the cameras; then again, I doubt any of us twenty-four tributes are.

For the first time, my thoughts turn to the other tributes in this year's Games, tributes that I can now consider my rivals and competitors. Of course, there will be the usual Career wolf-pack, using strength in numbers and their training to their advantage. Beyond that, there's never any patterns. All I can hope for is a young field, for there to be less tall and strong tributes than usual.

It occurs to me that, after our evening meal, the replays of the reapings will be replayed all across the country. With a television in my room, I can only imagine we'll be watching the other districts' reapings later. I quickly find myself both eager and anxious to see the rest of the tributes I will have to compete with.

When it's finally six in the evening, I step out into the corridor and almost run into Aspen. He's washed in the shower, his dark mop of hair still damp, and he's wearing a blur of Capitol colours. Compared to the grim formality of the reaping dress I haven't yet discarded, he looks like he's from another planet. The difference between the Capitol and the districts astounds me. As he passes, my eyes meet Aspen's for just a second before quickly look away. As much as I want to find a friendly face here as I walk towards almost certain death, I also know that even though he's from home, Aspen is now my competition. Two tributes can't win the Hunger Games, after all.

Aspen leads me into a long dining car with a mahogany buffet table running along one side, covered in a range of rich and exciting foods I've never seen before. Compared to the basic diet of District 7, the prospect of so much varies seems overwhelming.

"Ah, here they are!" begins an excitable voice that I recognise to be that of Blight, one of District 7's two living victors, who are our mentors in this year's Games. "We were just wondering if you'd got lost!"

"It's hard to get lost on a train, Blight. There are only two ways you can go," says another voice, more tired than the first. It belongs to Johanna Mason, a young woman who won the Games when I was nine. In Seven, she's famed for her short temper and dry humour.

Training her eyes on us for the first time, Johanna says, "Looks like we got a strong pair of tributes this year, don't you think?"

"Absolutely," Marcus replies. I admit I hadn't noticed him in the room until he spoke. For whatever reason, Johanna's practiced pose - she's leaning back in her chair, arms crossed, barely showing any signs of enthusiasm - commands too much attention from me. It's like she doesn't have to try to make those around her aware of her.

"You both seem strong and well-fed," Blight comments. "Neither of you have had to take tesserae, have you?"

"No," I reply. I notice Aspen shake his head beside me.

"You're not starving then, just damned unlucky," Johanna says. "But we can fix that. That's our job. Already I think both of you stand a better chance than the tributes we had last year." I barely even remember who was reaped from our district for the 73rd Games.

"Marten came third last year," Aspen reminds our mentors.

"He was young, weak and desperate," Johanna replies. "It turned out he had a few good tricks up his sleeve, but you'll both be better than that."

"Too right," Blight nods. "Anyway, enough chatter; I'm sure you both want to eat..."

Between the volume of food Aspen and I get through and the rate we're eating, there's barely any time for talking until we're pulled away from the dining car and into a sitting room further along the train, ready to watch the other districts' reapings. Aspen and I sit stiffly beside each other on a sofa; Blight sits on the floor in front of us, and Johanna leans against the doorway.

The reapings begin, as always, with District 1. A traditional Career district, it doesn't disappoint, and the two eighteen-year-olds who rush forwards to volunteer both look the part of victors; athletic and attractive, carrying charisma many would find hard to reproduce. If I heard correctly, their names are Marvel and Glimmer. District 2, so often One's partner in crime, offers much of the same, and the vast young man who poses at the front of the stage causes Blight to groan.

"What's the matter?" Aspen asks.

"Look at him," Johanna replies, gesturing at the screen, although she looks worried, too. I can see the boy's chosen mentor, Brutus, patting him on the back as he announces his name to the crowd - Sextus Aurelius Cato.

"He's Brutus's son," I whisper, taking deep breaths. If he's anything like his father, he's going to be the one to beat this year in the arena, I'm sure. Brutus Cato got fifteen kills during his Hunger Games, the most of any victor.

The latest member of the Cato family entering the arena - they have a line of victors - completely diverts my attention from his district partner; I don't even get her name. In fact, I barely register anything until I see Finnick Odair holding up the hand of Caspian, the tribute he will champion in District 4's quest for glory this year. District 4 may have won the last Hunger Games, but the strongest Careers appear to be from One and Two this year.

With no volunteers expected for many of the remaining districts, I begin to hope for a few younger, smaller tributes to have their names pulled from the reaping bowls, but, as you would expect with the rule of cumulative entries, nearly all the tributes reaped are sixteen or older, many of them much larger than me. However, several of them look much more malnourished than I am; coming from an influential family in District 7 has given me a slight edge over much of my competition.

My reaping comes and passes, and then I am finally given some luck, when two young tributes are reaped for District 8, and eventually we get our first twelve-year-old; the girl from District 11. However, to balance it out, the boy from Eleven is a giant who I'm sure would give any of the Careers a run for their money in a test of strength.

Finally, there's only one district left, and I'm pleased when another twelve-year-old is pulled from the crowd. However, I quickly find that the Hunger Games have a seventh volunteer this year, as the girl's older sister rushes forwards to take her place. Blight tuts in front of us as she's introduced to the crowd, even though I can't help laughing when her mentor Haymitch Abernathy steps forward to congratulate her and ends up crashing off the stage.

Suddenly the program ends, and I have a few moments to process in what I've seen, even though it was almost exactly what I expected.

"I'm not happy about that girl from Twelve," Johanna says into the silence. "Sure, she's small and not that attractive, but, after volunteering like that... If her interview's even half way to decent, she'll have floods of sponsors."

"We'll just have to do better, then," Marcus says positively, trying to remain upbeat. I don't know what to think.

"Anyway," Blight says brightly, standing up. "We've got plenty of time to think about this in the morning - it's time we all went to bed! I expect to see both of you up early tomorrow - we'll be in the Capitol just after sunrise."

* * *

 **A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! Constructive criticism is welcomed :)**


	3. Castaway

**A/N: Thanks to Jemmie for reviewing the last chapter! I appreciate the support :)**

 **This chapter ended up having less to do with the song that I had originally intended, but I hope that you all still enjoy reading it :)**

* * *

 **"I'm on a mission into destination unknown**

 **An expedition onto desolation road."**

 **\- Billie-Joe Armstrong, 2000.**

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

 **Flux Stevens (17), District 3 Female**

 **8.45 am, Monday 13th July, year of the 74th Hunger Games**

 **Green Day - Castaway (2000)**

* * *

The morning comes before I want it to, like everything else since the reaping. When it feels like you're living on borrowed time, you want every moment to last forever.

With the quality of everything around me, I might have expected a good night's sleep last night on the train, but in honesty I feel like I've barely been to sleep. So many thoughts falling over each other as they scramble to the front of my mind, so many worries pushing into my head that I might as well not worry at all.

Yesterday, I left District 3 for the first (and most likely last) time in my life. Today, I begin my new, temporary existence as a tribute in the Capitol. Having seen the tributes I'm up against this year in the arena, I'm surprised to find that rather than being intimidated, I'm invigorated. Yes, I'm far from being a favourite, but I know that I have advantages that other tributes won't expect. There are plenty of things we learn in District 3 that benefit me in the Games.

The person who has shown me this more than any other is Beetee, an ageing victor who is mentoring my partner, Pixel, in the Games this year. Along with Wiress, Beetee has been mentoring our district's tributes for longer than I've been alive. Beetee won his Games by eliminating the final Careers with an electrical trap he'd constructed using parts he scavenged during his time in the arena. If you know where to look for it, there's a weapon in everything.

I'm not the smartest girl in the world, but by District 3 standards, I'm capable. Before the reaping, I'd been hand-picked for training to be on one of the large research and development teams in my district, provided I did well at school during my final year. I was told three weeks ago, in the middle of June. For once I could see a future for myself, something above and beyond becoming a factory worker, one of the mindless souls who spend hours on end soldering cables. And then, suddenly, it was all taken away from me.

Forcing myself to get up and face the world, I walk down the corridor to the dining car for something to eat, although I am too nervous to manage much. I'm up earlier than Pixel, but it doesn't surprise me that Beetee and Wiress are already waiting for me. Although Beetee is technically Pixel's mentor and Wiress is mine, in practise much of the mentoring responsibilities are shared.

"Good night's sleep?" Beetee asks me as I pour myself a glass of milk, not waiting for the attendant's permission.

"No," I reply bluntly. I don't see the point in lying about it.

"Don't worry, the first night never is," he replies. "I've been there; I should know."

"Yeah, it worked out quite well for you in the end, didn't it?" I say.

"Yes. Although I didn't always think I would make it. I'm sure Wiress thought much of the same." Wiress shrugs, then goes back to looking out of the window at the mountainous landscape we're passing through. Footage I've seen of the Capitol shows it ringed by peaks. I expect we're nearly there now.

"We should be arriving in the Capitol in just under an hour," Beetee says, as though reading my mind. "Plenty of time to sit down and talk about what's to come in the next few days. Perhaps, with Pixel not yet showing up, we have a chance to talk in confidence, if you feel the need to keep information separate from him."

"Why would anyone do that?" I ask.

"As much as it many not seem like it now, once the gong rings in the arena, you two will, technically, become adversaries. If you have any sort of physical or tactical advantage that you don't want him to see, or-"

"If anything, he's the one with an advantage on me," I say. District 3 rarely wins the Games, and when it does, it often wins through clever tactics rather than physical excellence. Pixel has a sharp mind, so sharp that he's been moved up a year in school; he'll finish on the same day as me, despite being only sixteen now. Given the right tools, I wouldn't bet against Pixel following in Beetee's footsteps and winning against the odds.

"Well, if there's nothing you desperately want to say," Beetee continues, "I'd best not waste time. As much as many mentors may tell you otherwise, you are not here in the Capitol to make friends, not with me and certainly not with your fellow tributes. You are here for just one purpose; to win the Hunger Games. Perhaps other mentors, in other, more successful districts, or deluded fools like Marcel Fielding who's mentoring for District 9, might prefer to interact with their tributes in different ways, but in my eyes, only one thing is important from here. That is you learning everything you need to know to survive in the arena."

Beetee pauses for a moment, to check that I am keeping up with him, before continuing.

"The Gamemakers will construct an environment to challenge even the most hardened tributes; there is too much to worry about in the arena for you to give in to starvation, dehydration, a lack of shelter or infection."

"I'd like to think I have a good grasp of that," I reply. I know my stuff; I've seen enough of the Games to have some common sense on the matter.

"Well, by the end of the week, you'll be knowing all of that information like the back of your hand - I'll make sure of it. The way I see it, a tribute either has the temperament to win the Hunger Games, or they don't. There's not much I can do in a few days to change someone's mindset. But if you have got what it takes, I can definitely give you the tools to make sure that you succeed." I nod, knowing that it's not in Beetee's style to sugar-coat anything. If he can at least offer me that much, I'd be a fool not to listen to him.

Beetee glances at the clock on the wall, frowning. "We'll be there in a little more than fifteen minutes. Pixel had better show better timekeeping than this; he'll need to if he wants to succeed with anything this week..."

* * *

Ten minutes later, and we've managed to convince a sheepish-looking Pixel to leave his room just as our train pulls into the station. Having missed the last few minutes as we have approached the city, my first look at the Capitol is of the cheering crowds waiting on the platform, the Peacekeepers keeping an open path off the train, reporters clamouring to get just that little bit closer to the action. I feel as though it should make a big impression on me, but all I can think about is the colours appearing more vibrant than they ever do on our television screens at home.

"Before we go out there, I need to explain what's happening to both of you," Beetee explains. The more he says, the more I am grateful for him; Wiress seems incredibly untalkative. Unlike Beetee, she seems completely detached from the rest of the district. "Tonight, as I'm sure you know, there is the opening ceremony, which features the tributes' parade. This afternoon, you will be travelling to the Remake Centre, where our district's stylists will prepare you for the parade. From watching previous parades, you can probably guess the sort of thing our stylists will ask of you, but whether you agree with their choices or not, I implore you not to resist their efforts to help you. It will be better for all of us." I shudder, thinking of some of the nightmarish outfits our tributes have been forced to wear at previous parades; the last thing I need is for an abomination of a costume to squander my chances of being picked up by a sponsor.

"After the parade, we'll be going to the Training Centre before training starts tomorrow, but more on that later. We have places to be."

* * *

We follow Beetee out of the train, with Wiress and our escort Valentina bringing up the rear. Beetee guides through the excited faces in the crowd, desperate to hear from us, as we cover the short distance through the station and into the back of a large black car, far more luxurious than the one we had driven in yesterday back in District 3. The dark tinted windows offer us cover from prying faces, although the adrenalin rush of the crowds at the station takes longer to fade.

Time seems to pass slowly in the back of the car, both Pixel and I sitting silently beside each other, but eventually we reach the Remake Centre, which is a tall building of steel and glass not far from the centre of the city. In the small car park at the front of the building, I can see at least four other cars identical to ours parked in a row. We are not the first tributes to arrive. It is strange to think that, in the building ahead of me, there are children from places I have never seen and could scarcely imagine.

Entering the foyer, Valentina waves farewell to us as Beetee leads us up to a registration desk, which surprises me. Surely they know who we are and why we're here?

Soon we're hurried up an elevator to the third floor of the building to meet our stylists. As Beetee leads Pixel to his stylist, I find myself alone with Wiress for the first time since the reaping, but I find that I don't really know what to say to her, and I'm relieved when I can get out of the elevator.

I already knew who I was going to meet here, even though nobody has told me. Leon Beckett, a man aged somewhere between forty and seventy (with all their alterations, I find it so hard to guess the ages of the Capitol people) who has been the stylist for the girl from District 3 for years and years. He's heavily tattooed, with swirling patterns covering almost all of the bare skin I can see, save for one side of his face. His hair, which is long, blond and covering one half of his face, is completely shaven on the other side. He's certainly striking, but I find his look disgusting. How can people spend so much time and money to look so awful, especially with so many starving and dying in the districts?

"Flux!" Leon says excitedly, extending an inked hand towards me. "Just the person I've been looking for!" With an increasing sense of unease, I grasp his hand and shake it. His skin is warmer than mine, his hand so much more steady. "Would you walk with me for just a minute? Wiress, I think I can handle things from here, dear."

Wiress nods slowly and walks back to the elevator without saying a word.

"She's something of a strange one, that woman," Leon says apologetically. "Did you know she was the first tribute I had the pleasure of being a stylist for? Course, it was before you were born... You're now my twenty-second tribute, and I haven't had a victor since her... Here's to changing that, eh?" Leon adds, nudging me on the shoulder. I can tell he's just trying to be friendly, but something about him and about his job, of prettying us up before our slaughter, rubs me up the wrong way.

"This isn't just a big day for you, you know," Leon continues, guiding me into another, larger room, with four white walls and artificial light coming from the roof. At the far end of the room, three women in garish outfits look on excitedly and expectantly. "It's a massive day for us stylists in the Games, too. An incredible chance to push our skills, to have more of the public interested in our fashions for the next year. So never fear, I've put months and months into designing your outfit for tonight."

Leon stops, gesturing to the three young women who are now approaching me.

"Flux, meet my prep team," Leon says, gesturing to the women. "Lavinia, Chorus and Persephone. They're going to help get you ready for tonight's parade. So I'll bid farewell and leave you in their capable hands." Somehow, I feel even less comfortable around these women than Leon.

"Don't worry," Leon adds, stopping in the doorway to the room. "You're going to look fabulous."

* * *

 **A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! Constructive criticism is welcomed :)**


	4. Oh My God

**A/N: Thanks to MiniMustache for review! I appreciate the support :)**

 **I ended up wandering quite far from my original idea for this chapter, so the lyrics don't make as much sense as I would have liked, but I still feel pleased with the chapter I've ended up with :)**

 **It's been a busy weekend, so finding time to write this chapter took a little longer than I expected. I hope that you all enjoy reading it :)**

* * *

 **"It don't matter to me**

 **All I wanted to be**

 **Was a million miles from here**

 **Somewhere more familiar."**

 **\- Ricky Wilson, 2004.**

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

 **Harvey Miller (18), District 9 Male**

 **6.30 pm, Monday 13th July, year of the 74th Hunger Games**

 **Kaiser Chiefs - Oh My God (2004)**

* * *

Despite how clean, clear and spacious everything is in the Capitol, I can't help but feel claustrophobic surrounded by my support team as I descend to the lowest level of the Remake Centre. We are just a few short minutes from the start of the opening ceremonies, and the accompanying tributes' parade. This is the first time that I will be seen by the Capitol public in the flesh; my first chance to make an impression to potential sponsors.

If only my stylist had been a little more outgoing this year. With our outfits intended to reflect the character of our district, my stylist Cassandra has gone straight for the stereotype and dressed me up as a farmer. Sure, she's not wrong, but it's unlikely to turn many heads. I can see her watching me out the corner of my eye as we descend, smiling with pride. I know that she doesn't care about me at all, but it's been a few years since an eighteen-year-old was last reaped for District 9, and she'll love nothing more than being the stylist for a victor.

Behind her sulks my district partner Ayra, as distant as ever. She's three years younger than me and barely over five feet tall. I never knew her before the reaping, and she seems to be doing her best to make sure I won't know her now, either. I'm certain there's no chance of teamwork in the arena this year.

The doors open at the bottom of the elevator and we walk out into the large area holding us before the parade begins. Ahead of me are twelve chariots, pulled as always by teams of four horses. When we find the chariot for District 9, fourth from the back, I see that our horses are a sandy-brown colour. A pair of Capitol attendants help lift Ayra and myself onto the chariot, where I choose to sit and wait - there will be plenty of time to stand later.

Cassandra wishes me luck and quickly leaves, presumably to get good seats for the parade; the stylists are as much fans of the Games as anyone. The only person who remains with us while we wait is Ayra's mentor, Alexander. He's a man in his early thirties who has been stepping in to mentor the girl from our district whenever our youngest female victor, Holly Thorpe, is too unwell to mentor our tributes. My own mentor, Marcel, has already excused himself today. He's very popular with the Capitol audience, something that he uses to his advantage during the Games. Often seen on Capitol TV even away from Hunger Games season, he's got a lot of leverage I'm very grateful for.

Looking around, I notice that we're only the second team to arrive beneath the Remake Centre, after District 5. It's the first time I've seen any of my fellow tributes in person, and I can't say that I find either of the tributes from Five intimidating, although the girl seems hard to read.

I look on silently, avoiding Ayra's gaze as we watch the room fill around us, giving us a closer look at our competition. District 11 is next to arrive, and the difference between the two tributes couldn't have been greater if they'd planned it. Thresh, comfortably the largest of the twenty-four, walks past our chariot completely void of emotion. I feel Ayra tense next to me as he passes. I struggle to suppress a grin. I need to make the most of any advantage I have over her.

Ayra, who is really beginning to show signs of nerves, begins to talk quickly and quietly to Alexander. I pretend to ignore them, focusing my gaze and the tributes from Eight and Ten, who almost arrive together. The boy from District 10 needs help getting into his chariot; I guess his injured leg is as bad as it seemed in the footage of the reaping.

That's one less tribute for me to worry about.

The tense, sullen atmosphere in the Remake Centre is suddenly broken with the arrival of the Careers, who step out of the elevators in a jumble of districts; clearly the traditional alliance between One, Two and Four has already been set up. While the tributes still appear stiff and unwilling to cooperate with each other, the mentors appear thick as thieves. Finnick and Gloria, the mentor of the girl from District 2, are talking animatedly, laugher bouncing off the walls. Cashmere and Gloss are speaking in hushed tones to Brutus, who has his arm around his son's shoulder. Glimmer is talking to the girl from Four, Gabriella, and her mentor, surrounded by their stylists.

The only tributes who don't seem to keen to be involved are Marvel and Caspian. They stand back from the group, eyeing their allies and each other warily. A rush of hope fills me as I begin to see signs that maybe all of the Careers aren't on the same page, after all.

Eventually the Careers settle into their chariots, disappearing from sight at the front of the parade procession. They are followed in quick succession by the tributes from District 6 and 7, and the sense of unease the Careers had given me fades as I realise there are others in the same position as me; others I stand a chance in a fight against, that I would probably favour myself against.

For all my life, I've accepted that, should I ever be reaped for the Hunger Games I would have no chance of winning. Somehow, in the day and a half since my name came out of that reaping bowl, I've become more motivated than I could ever have imagined. As bad as my situation seems, there are small signs that maybe this year, the Games won't be the Career-led procession they often become. Given time to train, I shouldn't have to worry about many of the others. Well, I have to take them seriously, but I have a good chance of outlasting them.

There's a long wait before the next district arrives. The tributes of District 12 look awfully nervous wearing simple black clothes, flanked by stylists I don't recognise, which is unusual because of how much coverage stylists often get during the Games. Given how apprehensive the girl seems, any support she might have rounded up with her volunteering yesterday will most likely wither under the bright lights of the parade.

Everything is slowly falling into place.

It isn't long before the final districts arrive and we're told we have a minute before the parade starts. For the first time, my confidence begins to wane as I'm struck with a flutter of nerves. I look down to Alexander for reassurance.

"Heads high, look out at the audience. Be friendly and you'll be fine."

I don't have time to respond before I see the doors open ahead of me, hear the roar of the crowd and the rush of music, feel the chariot begin to edge forwards out of the Remake Centre. The parade has begun. The voice of an announcer welcomes each pair of tributes as they enter the streets, the cheers accompanying them a sign of early support. As District 8 leave the Remake Centre ahead of us, I'm aware that District 2 has, rather unsurprisingly, had the best reaction of any of the districts so far.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Harvey Miller and Ayra Bailey, the tributes of District 9!"

Suddenly the lights dazzle me as we're thrown out into the city, to the banks of adoring fans watching our procession, clamouring for their first proper view of this year's tributes. The passion and ferocity among the fans takes me back for a while, and I become aware that I'm staring vacantly out at the audience, unsure what to do. Finally I begin to take a grip of the situation, waving to fans, catching the eye of an excitable teenager in the front row and giving him a broad smile, posing for -

Suddenly any attention I had been commanding has evaporated, eyes travelling to chariots behind me.

"District Twelve! District Twelve!"

They shout, they cry, they throw flowers at their chariot's feet; they do not care for us anymore. Glancing backwards, I try to see what has made District 12 so noticeable, but with two chariots in the way, I can't make it out. All I know is it's something bright.

Looking at Ayra beside me, I see her slumped and closed off, as clueless as I feel. Anything we could have done to grab attention here has been robbed by District 12 and their unrecognisable stylists. For a moment her eyes meet mine, and for the first time I feel like I can understand her. We have both been upstaged here. Looking ahead, I can see similar confusion from the tributes of District 8, a confusion that only barely conceals resentment.

I begin to feel a similar resentment within myself, an anger at the Capitol public who aren't sparing me one glance, not even while being paraded towards my likely death. Never before have I felt less sympathetic to the Capitol and its barbaric ways. Usually the tributes here at the back of the parade have little to be concerned about; we are all as unfancied as each other. This year, District 12 has left us playing catchup.

The remainder of the parade for the next twenty minutes pass agonisingly slowly, as close as I am to the District 12 chariot. If I didn't know that the tributes from Twelve are called Katniss and Peeta, I definitely do now. I hear someone in the crowd calling their name every second.

Eventually we reach the City Circle where the parade reaches its end, and as the chariots pull up in front of the president's mansion, I notice all of the windows of the buildings surrounding the Circle are crammed with eager spectators.

The music finally ends with a bombastic flourish and the crowd grows silent as our president, Coriolanus Snow, walks onto the balcony of his mansion to give the traditional welcoming address. He is small and thin with white hair, and he gives a speech very similar to those I head watching the opening ceremonies every year at home with my family, grateful of our luck that I've been spared for another reaping. This year, watching the speech in person gives a new sense of power to the occasion, and a new edge of realism to my likely fate.

As the speech continues, I glance up at the large screens around the City Circle, where the faces of the tributes are often shown during the speech. I try to follow who is being shown as the faces flash by. Marvel - District 12 - the boy from Six - Caspian - District 12 - Clove from District 2 - District 12 - Thresh from Eleven - District 12 - myself and Ayra but briefly, only there for a second - District 12 _again_...

I don't know what they had intended, but the stylists of District 12 have struck gold. Even the Careers are glancing over at them enviously. Taking the time to properly observe them, I see that both Katniss and Peeta are wearing capes and headpieces that have been set alight, flames dancing across their backs, inviting me to watch them. It's no wonder the Capitol audience are so taken by them.

Like most of us here in the Games this year, I'm going to need sponsor support to take the fight to the Careers. It's rare that tributes win from the outer districts without taking the hearts of the fans in the Capitol. And whatever I had been attempting to do to grab attention, District 12 have walked in and stolen all of our thunder. Nobody is giving me, or any of the other tributes around me, a second thought.

It's advantage Twelve for now.

* * *

 **A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! Constructive criticism is welcomed :)**

 **The next chapter, in which training starts, should be published quicker than this one was. I'll be back with another chapter soon :)**


	5. Piledriver Waltz

**A/N: Thanks to melliemoo for reviewing! The support is appreciated :)**

 **To clarify on something, this fic will feature one chapter from each of the twenty-four tributes in the Games - those named in the original Hunger Games book, and those that were never mentioned. These early chapters feature tributes barely mentioned in the original book, as I have to use the perspectives of the tributes that get killed on the opening day of the Games now, as I can't feature their perspectives later in the narrative (for obvious reasons). Due to this, many of the known characters (Peeta, Cato, Marvel etc) will have their perspectives used much later in the story, once the Games have begun for real.**

 **Hopefully that clarifies the matter, and I hope that you all enjoy reading today's chapter :)**

* * *

 **"You look like you've been for breakfast at the Heartbreak Hotel**

 **And sat in the back booth by the pamphlets and literature on how to lose**."

 **\- Alex Turner, 2011.**

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

 **Victoria Cooper (18), District 6 Female**

 **8.00 am, Tuesday 14th July, year of the 74th Hunger Games**

 **Arctic Monkeys - Piledriver Waltz (2011)**

* * *

I'm the last person to wake for breakfast this morning, still in my dressing gown as I walk along the corridor with bare feet. The cool, smooth textures of the floor help to wake me up.

We're in the Training Centre, where we'll be held until the Games begin this Sunday, and where we will spend the next three days training, preparing our minds and bodies for the arena.

"Good to see you're up early," my mentor, Melissa Sayer, tells me as I sit down beside her with a full plate of food. So different to the struggle to have a morning meal each day in Six. Melissa watches me carefully as I eat. She's eighty years old, the victor of one of the earliest Hunger Games, but although her body has been starting to fail her, her mind's as sharp as it was the day she won the Games. I wish we could say the same for all of the victors from our district, but two of the four we've had are drug addicts.

Thankfully, we've got the two competent ones with us in the Capitol; opposite me, deep in conversation with each other, sit my district partner Jason and his mentor, Ellis. Jason is a year younger than me but far taller, more strength in his broader frame. Looking across at the determination and resolve he appears to show, I can see that the struggles of life in District 6 have affected us in different ways. Poverty has hardened him, and weakened me.

As short as I am, I've always known I'd never be a favourite if I was reaped. If I was going to stand a chance of winning, I'd need to win by other means. Either by amassing an incredible amount of sponsor support or staying a step ahead of the game. After District 12's performance at the opening ceremony, it's unlikely I'll be a favourite with the Capitol fans. What Twelve pulled last night that caught us all off guard. It'll take something special to get one back on them.

"How are you feeling about training?" Melissa asks me gently, sipping a mug of coffee. "Do you know what's expected of you?"

"Not really," I shrug, feeling more anxious as I think about everything that has happened in the last two days. Just two days ago I woke up in my bunk with my sister. Just two days ago I was stressing about what dessert I wanted for the post-reaping celebratory meal... "They never say much about whatever happens in training on the TV."

"That is true," Melissa admits. "It is kept rather secret. For the next three days, you'll be training in the gymnasium at the bottom of this building along with the other tributes."

I begin to feel another sense of panic.

"What if one of the other tributes starts a fight and I get caught up in it?"

"They won't," Melissa says reassuringly, resting a weathered hand on top of one of mine. "There are always enough attendants and, if needs be, Peacekeepers, to make sure that nothing like that ever happens. You'll be perfectly safe. You just need to focus on learning all of the essentials."

"And what would you recommend?" I ask. I have no idea what the best use of my time will be.

"At the start of training, a lot of tributes just rush to the biggest weapon they can get their hands on and try to practice with that. Honestly I don't think that's the best approach for anyone, and certainly not someone of your stature. It's likely that, even if you attempt to put up a fight at the Cornucopia on the first day - and I wouldn't recommend it - the Careers will walk away with nearly all of the supplies. You're going to have to learn how to survive from the land, and how to keep yourself alive with very little supplies. There are trainers who are experts in surviving in the wilderness. Even if you don't know everything, getting a handful of basic rules - knowing what berries are poisonous, for example - could make the difference between life and death."

"Got it," I nod, although I'm already feeling anxious I'll make mistakes when the time comes to stand up and be counted for. I am terrible with nerves - imagine if I forget something really important...

"Of course, learning how to defend yourself with one or two weapons is important," Melissa adds. "You'll never become as adept as the Careers in three days, but you might be able to get an advantage over one of the tributes from the other districts. I would recommend practicing with knives and axes; there's rarely a Hunger Games where one or both of them aren't in the arena."

Melissa stands up from the table, her plate empty. "There's not much else I can say to help you now, unless you have any questions," she says. "Within a few hours of training today, it'll be clear what your strengths are. From there I can advise you further, honing the skills you'll need the most."

Looking around, I notice that Ellis has already let Jason return to his room to prepare for training. I feel I should do the same. The last thing I need is the stress of being late.

"I'll go and get ready, then," I tell Melissa, who nods slowly as I leave the table, walking back along the corridor to my room, where an Avox has left clothes for me to wear today. A black tank top, tight black trousers and leather shoes. Not what I'd had in mind, but I don't have much of a choice in what I wear here. Almost everything in my life from now on will be decided for me.

It isn't long until Jason and I are meeting our escort, Julia, at the elevator to take us down to training. Even though it is just a short journey, apparently Julia has to be here as it's part of her responsibilities. I guess they really don't want to risk leaving one of us unattended.

"How are you feeling about training today?" Jason asks me as we descend. He always seems friendly to me, eager to help even, although I'm almost certain he won't actually want me as an ally once the gong rings at the beginning of the Games. My eyes are barely above his shoulders.

"So-so," I shrug, trying to keep my nerves at bay. "I have something of a plan."

Jason laughs. "More than what I have," he admits. "Ellis seems to think I should just try my hand at everything and see what fits me."

"It's something at least," I reply. Compared to the meticulously-managed plans of the Career Tributes, our half-cooked ideas make it so apparent how much of a disadvantage we have.

We reach the bottom of the elevator and head through a pair of doors into a large, artificially lit room lined with weapons and training equipment. Along one wall is a balcony where several Gamemakers stand in their purple robes, watching intently. A nearby attendant pins a large number _6_ to both of our backs, and Jason and I make our way slowly towards a small group of tributes gathered in the centre of the room. They keep their ground from each other, visibly tense.

It isn't long after we join the group that the Careers arrive, first District 2 and then One and Four almost together. They walk into the room as though they own everything in sight, claiming authority through their posture alone. I'm almost surprised they manage to keep quiet, waiting for instruction. The rest of the tributes, including myself, edge backwards to make room for them in the circle. Just one glance at them, especially the larger males, makes me feel intimidated.

Eventually the tributes from the final district, Twelve, arrive in the gymnasium. After the reaction they somehow claimed from the crowds last night at the opening ceremony I'm relieved to see that, although the boy looks strong, the girl from Twelve is around my size, and barely taller than anyone else in the Games this year. There are only two or three of the younger girls that are smaller than us. However, despite being small and lean, she appears to be much hardier than many of the rest of us, a lean strength running through her muscles where many of our bodies show only weakness. Unlike many of the rest of us, she doesn't appear intimidated by the Careers, although I'm sure on the inside she's as terrified as the rest of us.

With all of the tributes now present, the head trainer, an athletic woman called Atala, steps into the middle of the circle and introduces herself to us, explaining the format of the training. That there are various stations to practice different skills, that experts will be on hand at each station, that we are free to go wherever we please, and that we are not permitted to fight with each other. Everything she says appears functional; she delivers maximum information through minimal words. Almost before I can process everything, we're dismissed and I'm free to choose where to go.

I glance over at Jason, wondering if he's as stuck as I am, but he's already walking away from me, following Caspian and Sextus Cato towards the largest swords he can find. Remembering what Melissa told me earlier over breakfast, I manage to suppress a smile as I turn on my heel and head in the opposite direction to my district partner, towards the survival stations.

* * *

Seven hours later I find myself alone in the elevator returning to my floor, desperately trying to salvage a positive from the day's training. Everything that I tried I was awful at. My hands were too shaky to start a fire, I couldn't remember any of the key rules at the edible plants station, my temporary shelters were poor and collapsed on their own; I didn't have the strength for the climbing wall or the stamina for the obstacle course. In the last hour I had thought about trying my hand at using a knife, but considering how badly everything else went, I didn't want to show anyone how awful I would likely have been with a knife.

It feels like the only thing I am good at is being able to lose.

I know that there is still time, but it's difficult to look past everything feeling so hopeless.

Looking out of the elevator across the City Circle and the Capitol as I rise into the sky, higher and higher towards my floor, I watch the slanting sun gaze across the city with me. The same sun I saw every day at home in District 6, yet everything else is so different. Just three days ago I was in a different world.

I look down at the crowds of people moving through the busy walkways of the city, their cars bustling along over-congested roads. A whirlwind of colour and noise, an overload of the senses that jars so much with my images of home. Knowing what I have shown today and how unlikely I am to ever return to my district, the saturation of the Capitol feels stifling. So many people, so much happening. And somehow I sit at the middle of it all, a player on their favourite television show.

I wonder what my family think, back home in District 6. My mother, my father, my sister. My three younger cousins. Do they believe that I'll win the Games? Have they already resigned themselves to a life without me? I can't know; I never will know.

Desperately trying to think of the positives, I try to remind myself that I still have two more days of training before our scores are announced by the Gamemakers. Hopefully in that time I can manage to show them something, _anything_ , that might convince them to give me an average score, at least. Between Melissa and Ellis, there must be some trick or tip I can use to find a skill I can master. I haven't spoken to Jason since before training began; I've hardly seen him all day. Maybe he will have some new advice, some wisdom he can share with me.

Or maybe I will find something within myself that I never knew I had.

All I know is that it isn't time to give up on all hope.

Not yet, anyway.

* * *

 **A/N: This chapter was more defeatist than most, but I hope that you all still enjoyed it! As ever, constructive criticism is welcomed :)**


	6. Drones in the Valley

**A/N: I've got a lot of free time this week, so I'm hoping to be at the arena chapters for this fic within the next week or so :)**

* * *

 **"Screaming at the ceiling doesn't make it better."**

 **\- Matt Shultz, 2007.**

* * *

 **Chapter Six**

 **Aidan Frost (14), District 8 Male**

 **10.00 am, Wednesday 15th July, year of the 74th Hunger Games**

 **Cage the Elephant - Drones in the Valley (2007)**

* * *

Unlike yesterday, the trainers don't give us any instructions when we arrive in the gymnasium for training. They just let us get on with it.

Today I'm arriving at training feeling awfully tired after staying up late with my mentor Harvey working on strategies for the Games. I may be only fourteen, but I'm tall and strong for my age, and it's not like fourteen-year-olds have never won the Hunger Games before. If Finnick Odair can manage it, then why can't I? Sure, I know I'm not the best of the twenty-four, but I have strengths I can work on. After a day working on my techniques with swords and knives, I know that I can put up a fight if necessary. I'm tall, I'm quick, and while I may not be the strongest, my superior reach over all but Thresh and the Careers gives me something of an edge in close combat.

Still, Harvey feels that this might not be enough to guarantee going far in the Games this year. He knows as much as I do how scarce food is in District 8. How close everyone stands to the cliff's edge, balancing on the edge of falling into starvation. Years of struggling, years of living in a desperate family, have left me underfed and undernourished. If I was from another district, I could have been Marvel. But I'm not. I'm Aidan Frost, a gangly runt of a boy who's having to make do with what he's been given, trying to play the rough hand he's been dealt in life.

So, after many hours of deep conversation, Harvey and I have agreed that if I want to do well in the Games this year, I'm going to have to find myself some allies. Now, with a day and a half of training before the private sessions, I have a chance to speak to the tributes I've selected as my targets. Between my mentor and myself, we've come up with five names. If I can convince at least two of them to work with me, then I'll have a good chance of a working alliance in the arena.

With the tributes around me dispersing to various stations around the room, I scan the room quickly for my first target and set off towards them.

"You know, you're not bad with that thing," I tell Jason, the boy from District 6, as I arrive at the swords station next to him. We spent a couple of hours training here together yesterday afternoon. He's three years older than me, with his mop of brown hair almost reaching his shoulders. Despite being a couple of inches shorter than me, he's still larger than many of the other boys except the Career Tributes, and he's as capable as I am with a weapon. Considering the lack of training we both have, I think we're picking it up rather quickly.

"That's odd," Jason replies, not looking away from the dummy he's preparing to strike, a trainer looking on over his shoulder. "I remember you saying yesterday that I was completely clueless."

"Weren't we all yesterday?" I reply, trying not to be put off by Jason's defensive attitude. "I mean, none of us have ever trained before." Somewhere beyond me, I hear Marvel laughing, clearly close enough to have heard my comments. Again, anger rears its head at the thought of the Career Tributes, who have such an unfair advantage over the rest of us. I desperately try to stay calm, focusing instead on winning Jason's support.

I head to the rack of swords and pick up a short, flat blade. Maybe if my words don't convince him, my skills might. I return to Jason as I watch him finally skewer a dummy with the tip of his sword, to the excitement of the trainer working with him.

"Have you learnt how to block and defend yourself with that thing yet?" I ask Jason casually, turning my sword over and over in my hands.

Jason across at me.

"What does it matter to you?"

"Well, if you haven't... Wouldn't it make sense to have someone else there watching your back?"

Jason's expression turns into a frown.

"If you're suggesting what I think you are, I have enough to worry about right now without having to worry about you."

Sensing failure, I try to push the matter.

"Well, you know-"

I stop as I feel a hand on my shoulder, pulling me around. Suddenly I find myself face to face with Marvel, his eyes just a few feet from mine.

"Can't you see he doesn't want to team up with you?" Marvel grins, his green eyes fierce and brilliant, as though he finds this whole situation amusing. Almost instinctively I take a step backwards, and Marvel laughs. Despite only being an inch or two taller than me, we both know where we stand.

"Why don't you give him some space?" Marvel challenges me. I look from him to Jason - who doesn't dare to look at the boy from One - and back to Marvel.

"You know what?" I spit at Marvel, looking straight into his eyes as I throw my sword down on the floor beside me. "I think I will." I stride off away from the swords station without looking back, furious at losing the chance of allying with one of the tributes I had wanted on my side. I understand what Marvel was doing; of course he doesn't want the other districts to team up, just as we wish the Careers weren't concentrated in one pack.

I'm still seething when I spot my next target on my list of potential allies; Thresh, the vast eighteen-year-old from District 11. Yesterday he looked Sextus Cato straight in the eyes and told him and his Careers to get lost. Clearly we have a common enemy, and anyone the Careers think is good enough to align with is plenty good enough for me.

I find Thresh at the archery station, something I am sure is as far from his strengths as it is from mine. Before I can open my mouth to speak, the look Thresh gives me makes me certain it's a no-go. I'm fairly sure he must have been watching my actions at the swords station; he knows what I'm here for. The only thing I can do to save face is to stay put at the archery station, to try and play it off as me wanting to get some practise before the Games, but that's probably to my detriment. Now everybody can see what a terrible archer I am. I'm certainly no Johan Hurst.

* * *

Similar to yesterday, everyone segregates into groups for lunch, leaving empty spaces at our tables as our pool of tributes remains predictably divided. Some tributes sit next to their district partners, talking to each other in hushed tones. Others sit by themselves, preferring solitude as they look around nervously at the other tributes. The Careers are predictably loud, their calls and jokes almost the only noticeable sound during the lunch break. Only the occasional laughter from the tributes of District 12, who have been inseparable since the reaping, cuts through the Careers' banter.

One of the last to arrive for lunch, I search the tables for any of my remaining three targets, finally settling on a red-haired girl whose eyes scan the tributes around her carefully as she peels an orange. Ashleen Finch, the girl from District 5.

"You're quick with your fingers," I say as I sit down next to her. She doesn't flinch at all; there's barely a sign of her noticing I'm there. "Any good with a weapon in your hands?"

"Wouldn't you love to find out," Ashleen replies, looking across at me with a knowing half-smile on her face that I struggle to read.

"I'd rather find out as a friend than a foe," I say, trying not to be put off. I know I can win her over, and there's no Marvel here to stop me this time.

"That's an interesting thing to say," Ashleen adds, still looking at me, as though challenging me to look away. She seems amused by what I have to say, and I can't help feeling like I don't understand her at all.

"Don't you agree?" I try to prompt her, and she smirks more.

"I don't really know. Whatever happens, we'll all end up in the same place eventually, won't we?"

"Well," I say curtly, her cryptic half-replies really starting to get to me. "Why don't you give it some thought?"

Ashleen grins even more, shaking her head to push some of her hair out of her face. "Let's go with that, Aidan. I'll think about it."

And with that, Ashleen stands up next to me, pats me once on the shoulder and walks off, eating a segment of her orange as she goes.

She may not have said no, but everything that the girl from Five said made me feel less and less comfortable about teaming up with her. Maybe that was her intention all along, but I really don't know what I'll do if she comes back to me tomorrow with the promise of an alliance.

With my encounter with Ashleen considered by all intents a failure, I have little choice but to push on, to find someone to team up with as I exhaust my list of candidates. The next name on my list is either Katniss or Peeta from District 12, but they spend so much time in a bubble together than I'm certain they'll be teaming with each other, and there's nothing I could say to both of them that would encourage them to let me in on their arrangement. If I was with both of them in the arena, it's obvious that they would turn on me before each other, but if I could convince one of them to ally with me rather than each other, then that would be perfect.

I spend the afternoon watching the pair, hoping for them to separate for long enough for me to speak to one of them, but I never get a chance. By the end of the second day of training, I'm forced to admit that I have no chance of allying with them, just as I failed to convince any of my other targets to side with me. Not only that, but because I spent so much of today trying to talk to potential allies, I didn't spend much of my day focusing on training, either. I'm hardly in a better position than I was this morning; all of my competition will have improved by more than I did today.

By the time the elevator drops me off on the eighth floor of the Training Centre for dinner, I'm in such a foul mood that I barely speak to my mentor before storming into my room, not wanting to talk to anyone. The day's events run through my mind over and over again, making me wish I could have a second chance to negotiate a deal with any of the tributes that turned me down today. Frustration gives way to anger, and I find myself shouting at the walls out of the window, venting my unease until I'm completely empty.

However relaxed I might feel for shouting at the walls, it doesn't actually make my situation any better. A long talk with both Harvey and my district partner's mentor, Cecelia, about the day's training leaves me aware that there is only one option for me during training tomorrow morning.

After all, I still have one target left.

* * *

I don't waste any time on Thursday morning. Training stops just after twelve for lunch, and after that we have our private sessions with the Gamemakers. If I want to find an ally today, I don't have long to do it.

As soon as I arrive in the gymnasium, I'm scanning the room for her. It doesn't take me long to spot her, practising diligently at the spears station. Thankful for some good fortune, I'm grateful there aren't any Careers hanging around, waiting to disrupt my plans.

"Cracking hit," I say calmly to announce my presence as she gets a spear to stick in the stomach of a dummy twenty yards away. If she can throw them that well, she must be at least half decent with one in her hands.

"Maybe that one flattered me a little," Veronica Rowan, the girl from District 7, shrugs. It's the first time I've heard her speak, yet it's immediately apparent where she's from. "Reckon you could do any better?"

"I can only try," I say, taking a deep breath as I pick up a spear. I've never even held one before. With no time to ask for advice, my mind flickers back to memories of previous Hunger Games, of watching tributes fight and throw spears in the past. I take a second to compose myself, then I pick my stance and throw.

Unbelievably, my spear sinks into the same dummy that Veronica just hit. I hear her whistle softly beside me before her face spreads into a grin.

"Not bad," Veronica smiles, still looking at the mannequin. "We'd make a good team."

 _Well, that was easier than expected._

"You know what?" I say casually, trying to make it sound like this wasn't my plan all along. "I reckon we would."

Veronica grins, holding out a hand towards me. "Allies?"

I barely give her a second before I grasp her hand firmly, shaking it.

"Allies."

* * *

 **A/N: These pre-Games chapters seem to be flying by...**

 **Anyway, if you enjoyed this chapter, please review! Constructive criticism is welcomed :)**


	7. Fluffy

**A/N: This one didn't exactly end up where the lyrics had originally led me, but I'm still pleased with how it turned out - hopefully you all think the same :)**

* * *

 **"You look smart, but I don't care**

 **I'm not looking for no love affair**

 **I'd sell you my soul just to get me somewhere."**

 **\- Ellie Rowsell, 2015.**

* * *

 **Chapter Seven**

 **Aspen Sharp (17), District 7 Male**

 **9.00 am, Thursday 16th July, year of the 74th Hunger Games**

 **Wolf Alice - Fluffy (2015)**

* * *

"So," Johanna begins as we both sit down for breakfast. "The private sessions with the Gamemakers take place this afternoon. You two know what you want to show them yet?"

"I've got ideas," Veronica says vaguely beside me. Since the day of the reaping, we haven't seemed to be quite on the same page. I think we are both too aware that we will only end up as opposition.

"Roughly," I say. Although I'm completely certain what I'll show them, I don't want to let Veronica see any form of confidence from me. "How long do we get to show them what we can do?"

"Fifteen minutes," Blight replies. "Although I'd aim to get in all your impressive stuff early. The worst thing you can do is lose their attention before you can show them your best."

"Makes sense," Veronica shrugs, leaning back in her chair, adjusting the headband she uses to keep her hair out of her eyes. "Does it matter much if we suck? Say we get a three or a four... what will the sponsors think?"

"Generally, training scores only matter if they're really good," Johanna matters. "The people here just want to see who the Gamemakers think will challenge the Careers."

"Well, very bad training scores used to matter," Blight continues, glancing at Johanna beside him, who looks away. "But since Johanna won, everyone's taken low scores with a pinch of salt; what's stopping you from hiding your talents like she did?" Both Veronica and I nod; we both remember Johanna's Games, back when we were young. She won despite only scoring a four in training, deliberately hiding her talents to get an edge on the competition.

"As long as you show them that you know what you're doing, you won't get terrible scores, and that's what matters here," Johanna adds. "Make it look like you can defend yourselves and you'll do fine."

I won't need to reach far to aim for that; I'm desperately trying to convince myself that I'll be able to defend myself once the Games begin for real, too.

* * *

Our escort Marcus joins us for the short elevator ride down to the gymnasium again, just as he has on the last two days. For the third day in a row, neither of us say a word to each other.

We walk in opposite directions when we reach the gym; Veronica to the spears station, myself towards the knives. The one weapon I will have the best chance of finding in the arena. If I'm going to learn how to use one thing, it's going to be a knife.

I already have a plan for the private sessions, a detailed idea of exactly what I need to show the Gamemakers. I spent half of last night awake thinking about it. While I feel confident about everything else that I want to show off this afternoon, I'm not so happy about my ability with a knife. After two days, it still feels heavy and awkward in my hands. This morning I'm joined at the knives station by both tributes from District 9 and Clove, who puts the rest of us to shame. She holds her blades with a delicate precision I could never learn in a week. Her skill is the product of thousands of hours of work.

Trying to ignore the overbearing threat of the Career Tributes, I work with an expert on my positioning. My main issue with using a knife is that my footwork is poor in close combat; I'm regularly walking into positions while sparring with a trainer where I'm a gentle nudge away from being off balance. While I won't be able to fight anyone in my private session later and will have to rely on showing my technique stabbing mannequins, I'm certain that the Gamemakers will know what to look for.

An hour passes, and despite making progress, I'm still not happy with where I'm at. Taking five minutes to cool down, I sit at the edge of the gym looking around at the other tributes. It doesn't take me long to find Veronica, who is still at the spears station now practicing while in a deep conversation with the boy from District 8. Conversations with tributes from other districts are unusual during training, except when attempting to form alliances. It doesn't surprise me that after four days barely having any contact with Veronica that she's willing to entertain other offers. What does surprise me, however, is how I feel about it.

Every year, there are a couple of districts where the two tributes choose to form an alliance with each other. You can see it this year with the tributes from Twelve; I've barely seen them alone since training began. I've always found such alliances stupid, based on a lingering loyalty to each other; a loyalty to your district. However, I know that District 7 doesn't matter at all when I enter the arena. All that matters is me and my survival. It's easier to go it alone, to rely on yourself alone, not to have the constant worry of your allies' plans.

Since the reaping I've been keeping my distance from Veronica, not wanting to give any impression that I care about her or show any interest in wanting to ally with her in the arena. I've given her no compliments when she's shown her best, given her no compassion when she's felt her worst. I have chosen my path to take in the Games, an now I have to play it out and hope it all works in the end.

However, watching Veronica spend so much time with the boy from Eight has started to give me doubts. As much as I have been certain that my decisions have been the correct ones to make, Veronica's actions have now made it certain I will have no allies, even if I change my mind and decide I need one. I'm sure I am right, but having that decision taken out of my hands leaves me feeling slightly unnerved.

I choose not to dwell on negative thoughts, throwing myself back into another hour of rigorous training. Even as they tell us to stop for lunch, I'm desperate to get in every last second I can, ignoring the calls to stop until finally two trainers and a Gamemaker have to walk over to pull the knife from my hands. Every second of practice could make a difference.

I sit on my own at lunch, my mind a swirling storm of worries. I take deep breaths and practice well-used techniques to calm my mind, try and tell myself that this training score isn't that important. But no matter how much our mentors wanted to play it down, this training score really does matter. It matters a hell of a lot to me. Anything I can do to gain more support is incredibly important, especially without the obvious sympathy route later in the Games of avenging fallen allies. Blight and Johanna might just have wanted us to avoid being singled out as a weakling, but I want to make headlines and gain support before the Games. I know I'll be less confident on interview night in front of the cameras than I will be today, so this is my big chance to make a name for myself.

I've been dreaming of an eight, hoping for a seven, willing to take a six and dreading a score of five or less. But now there is nothing I can do but sit in the dining room and watch as the crowd of tributes around me is slowly thinned. Everyone called in for their private sessions doesn't return. I presume we return to our floor of the Training Centre afterwards. At least Veronica won't be able to see my reaction when I leave; she, along with everyone else, won't have any extra information about me.

Eventually an assistant calls me into the gymnasium, and I find myself walking into the room without really thinking about what I'm doing; my mind is already distracted by other things, desperately trying to keep the twenty-four purple-clad Gamemakers peering at me out of the front of my mind. Eventually I hear the Head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane, give me permission to start, telling me that I have fifteen minutes at my disposal, and I walk straight to the knives station.

With no trainers on hand to assist me, I walk straight to a rack of knives, pick a handful that seem comfortable to me and set about giving the Gamemakers the best showing I can. I spent most of my time focusing on my ability in combat with my knives, hacking and slashing and thrusting at dummies as efficiently as I can. I'm not perfect, but working on my footwork this morning has definitely made me quicker than I was. I impulsively decide to spend a minute showing my knack at throwing knives - something that can never be underestimated - but my lack of practice betrays me; only three of the eight knives I throw hit their mark. From there, it's all survival stations, showing my ability to survive alone in whatever environment they want to throw me into.

I never look at the Gamemakers until they finally tell me that my time is up, that I am free to leave, and even then only for a glance. Their expressions are stoic, emotionless, as though they have seen it all before, which in truth, they probably have. I have no idea whether I managed to impress them or not.

I realise as I walk out of the doors towards the elevator that I have no idea what training score I'm likely to get when the scores are broadcast tonight.

I can only hope it's a good one.

* * *

 **A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! Constructive criticism is welcomed :)**


	8. Yes

**A/N: Here's the first Career Tribute of the story; the one Katniss was surprised to see didn't make it past the first day.**

* * *

 **"When it started we had high hopes**

 **Now my back's on the line, my back's on the ropes."**

 **\- Chris Martin, 2008.**

* * *

 **Chapter Eight**

 **Caspian Shaw (17), District 4 Male**

 **6.30 pm, Thursday 16th July, year of the 74th Hunger Games**

 **Coldplay - Yes (2008)**

* * *

I've had hours thinking about it, and I can't help going round in circles within my mind. As a Career Tribute, this training score is a make or break moment for me; anything below an eight and I'll be risking getting kicked out of the alliance. Especially after how things unfolded this morning...

The Careers this year are a predictable bunch, the sort of tributes I've spent the past five years at District 4's Training Centre being taught to compete against. In many ways that's a blessing, but it also means they're predictably dangerous.

The pair from One are insufferable. There's arrogant Marvel, who spends half of each day claiming credit for any suggested idea or strategy for the Games and spends the other half talking down to tributes from the outer districts. He's accompanied by smarmy Glimmer, who's spent most of her time trying to warm up to the tributes from Two, sensing that Marvel's something of a loose cannon she doesn't want to be tied to, desperate to get in Cato's good books.

Clove from District 2 is the easiest to understand and yet the hardest to measure. Cold, unforgiving and rarely stopping for conversation, she appears to be the most focused of all of us. Strong for her size, quick with her hands and incredibly deadly with a knife, Clove's intimidating stare is definitely not one I want to find myself looking down later in the Games. As quiet and menacing as she is, her silence leaves a measure of her unreadable; I have no idea what tricks she has up her sleeve.

Clove is partnered by Cato - I hate that I have started seeing him with that name - who has taken to wearing his family name like a badge of honour, assuming the role of group leader before any of us said a word to him. In the past two days, his displays have led me to begrudgingly admit that he's now earned that role; he's probably the strongest of us.

Not that I couldn't take him down if I tried.

 _Sextus_ Cato's a powerful figure, very much in the mould of his father and grandfather, two of the greatest victors Panem has ever seen. Brutus and Amadeus have trained him well, showing the same monstrous athleticism that Brutus showed in his Games, the same ruthless aggression that Amadeus pioneered over sixty years ago. Lethal with a sword and desperate to show us a thorough understanding of every aspect of the mentality of the Games, I'm certain Cato knows how to work any situation to his advantage.

Honestly, there's a part of me that hopes somebody else takes him down before I have to.

Finally, there is my district partner, Gabriella Clarke, a girl one year older than me who has been at the Training Centre in District 4 for longer than I have. Not as cold as Clove, not as appealing as Glimmer, Gabriella somehow manages to display a sense of honestly; she gives the impression that she's good through hard work rather than natural talent.

Or maybe I think that because I've known her since I was twelve. However she's choosing to act now, I'm sure she'll be as much of a threat as the rest of them once the Games begin for real.

Some years, the Careers ally with tributes from other districts who we think are dangerous, but this year we didn't manage to take on Thresh from Eleven; he rejected us in an instant. In other years, Careers who don't score highly enough are rejected by the others, but unless someone screwed up badly in their private session today, I'll be surprised if any of us get below an eight. Personally, I'm holding out for a ten; I know I'm worth even more than that on my day. I won the trials, to win my right to volunteer for District 4 at this year's reaping, with ease. Nobody else could touch me; I even beat all of the eighteen-year-olds, who've had a year more training than me.

However, even though I know my score will be excellent, this morning's encounters before lunch have left me feeling on the edge of my nerves. For all of Marvel's bragging, nobody ever calls him out on it, except for Cato. With precious little time together to strategise, the last thing we needed was for their verbal sparring to eat away at the morning. But bringing that up to them and trying to get the pair of them to shut up just made them both direct their anger at me, leaving me feel alienated for the first time. A moment of frustration that Cato may well have interpreted as a challenge on his leadership could easily have given him doubts about my position in this year's Career alliance.

I need to make sure I get a good training score, if only to prevent Cato from having an easy excuse to kick me out the group.

I hear a knock on my door, hear the voice of our escort Flavius calling me for dinner. He's been our district's escort for over a decade. It's never long after dinnertime that the training scores are announced; I force myself to push the nerves out of my mind.

I run into Gabriella outside my room, and we walk down the corridor to the dining room together. Gabriella looks more nervous than I feel, and I take a moment of strength from that. We both know that, like all Careers, our futures in the alliance depend on what numbers are placed next to our names tonight.

Entering the dining room, I find the room busier than usual, as our stylists have joined us for the first time since the parade. They are a married couple named Octavian and Bellatrix Stonehouse, both of them aged around thirty. Octavian is as frivolous and excitable as any stereotype of the Capitol, but Bellatrix speaks in the careful tones of District 4. Flavius sits at the head of the table next to Gabriella's mentor, Ludovic Robertson. He won the Hunger Games nearly a decade ago, but very little about him looks the same as the small, slim boy who remains one of the Games' youngest victors. A few inches shorter than me, muscular and athletic with shoulder-length blond hair and a well-kept beard, Ludo's the very image of a victor in the Capitol's mind.

The only empty seat at the table belongs to my mentor, the _oh-so-famous_ Finnick Odair, who has never helped train the tributes at the Training Centre unlike many of our district's victors, and who I've only seen once since the parade. Ludo's effectively been mentoring both of us on his own.

I hadn't expected to see Finnick tonight, but his absence has made me feel even more uncertain and irritable. Surely a mentor would want to be here to see their tribute receive their training score?

"Where's Finnick?" I challenge Ludo almost as soon as I'm through the door.

"He has other matters to attend to," Ludo replies. It's the same thing he's said for much of this week, and he looks no happier saying it than I feel hearing it. Why bother getting him to mentor if he's not going to be here at all?

"Should have guessed," I say grouchily, slumping into my seat between Bellatrix and Gabriella. I'm quickly running out of patience for today.

"So," Ludo says, trying to brush past the elephant in the room. "How did training go? How were your private sessions? What did you show the Gamemakers?" He is always incredibly thorough; there's a reason he's the victor in control of the Training Centre back home in District 4, despite only being in his early twenties.

"What do you think we did?" Gabriella laughs. "You've trained us for the past five years or more, Ludo. You know our strengths as well as we do. I showed my skill with daggers, although like you said, it's hard to demonstrate stealth in a private session, and Caspian showed off his work with a sword." I haven't said a word to her, but she's right about what I did in my session. I can't help worrying if Cato showed the Gamemakers the same thing, and if he'll get a higher training score than me.

Conversation quickly dies out over dinner as Ludo talks animatedly to Bellatrix. She's his older sister, one of very few people to be chosen for the yearly draft; a scheme where each year, thirty people from the districts with 'essential' skills are chosen to live in the Capitol. I don't know what's essential about a fashion designer, but she's clearly made her name for herself in the Capitol if she's now a stylist in the Games. I get the impression that Ludo doesn't often get the chance to speak to her, so both Gabriella and myself often leave them to themselves whenever they get talking.

"Who do you think will get the highest score?" Gabriella suddenly asks me, snapping me out of my thoughts. I had completely zoned out for a while.

"As long as it's one of us, I don't much care," I reply, and it's true.

"Once we're both in the alliance, we can bring the rest down," Gabriella replies, a true determination in her blue eyes, one I've grown accustomed to as I've watched her grow and shine in the Training Centre at home.

I nod firmly in agreement with her. We can work together to bring the rest of the Careers into line. Unlike the arrogant, self-serving Careers from One and Two, it isn't uncommon for our district to show a true element of teamwork in the arena. If our victors value it and the others clearly don't, then perhaps that is why, but there has always been a sense of honour between our tributes that the other Career districts often neglect.

It isn't long before everyone has finished their food and we move across the corridor into the sitting room to gather around the television, waiting to hear the announcement of the training scores. We turn on the television to be greeted by the familiar sight of Claudius Templesmith, one of the two leading members of the broadcast team; traditionally, he always announces the scores.

We don't have to wait long before the first scores are announced, starting with District 1 as usual; first the boy, then the girl. Marvel's score of nine isn't unsurprising, but certainly lower than he'd have hoped for; maybe he now knows he isn't all that he thinks he is. Glimmer scores an eight, lower than most Careers but certainly enough for her to book a place in the alliance.

District 2 come next, and both tributes receive a score of ten. Gabriella whistles softly beside me and Ludo looks slightly concerned, but I can't say either of those scores were unexpected. They do, however, make me feel even more pressure to do well, the nerves so much that I don't even register the scores for the tributes from District 3; nothing remarkable, I can say that much.

Suddenly my face in the on the screen, the number eight beside it! _Eight!_ Gabriella follows, and her training score is the same as mine.

"Eight is a very good score," Ludo says nervously into the silence we've both shown. "It's what I got when I won."

I know Ludo is right, I know that an eight is something to be proud of, but I can't help feeling disappointed. It's enough for me to have a place in the Career alliance, but both Cato and Marvel will feel like I am weaker than them. They won't value my input as much as each other, just as they turned on me today. Despite this eight setting me up as a serious threat in the arena, I can't help feeling like it's weakened me; after my outburst earlier, I'm almost certainly going to be the first person the others turn on, the first Career to be kicked out of the alliance.

I'm panicking so much, backup plans flying through my mind, that I barely pay attention to many of the next few scores, a blur of mediocrity that finally passes around the time we get to District 9 (their tributes get a six and a four), although I'm in such a foul mood I struggle to focus. Thresh's score of ten, the third of the Games, snaps me out of my mood, focusing me on the thought of more threats to deal with in the arena. Maybe being the one to take out Thresh could score me some respect with Cato; maybe finishing off the giant boy from Eleven would make me more valuable than Marvel; I'm better than him, anyway.

I'm thinking so deeply about my plans that I barely notice the boy from Twelve matching my score, but I certainly notice that the girl from District 12 scores the highest of all, with an _eleven_. There are gasps all around me; Ludo frowns in thought, Octavian seems genuinely excited, Bellatrix is shocked. Gabriella's expression seems more difficult to read.

 _How the hell did she manage that?_

Reading the girl's name on the screen, I realise that I never knew it before. Katniss Everdeen. The girl who wore flames at the reaping. In the Gamemakers' eyes, the favourite to win this year's Hunger Games.

And yet I didn't even know who she was until now.

"What do you all make of that, then?" Gabriella asks our support team.

"It'll certainly have everyone talking," Octavian replies.

"Sextus Cato will still be the favourite, if only because of his name," Bellatrix suggests. "But Katniss' score will certainly turn heads. Can either of you two think of anything that she might have shown the Gamemakers to get that score?"

Neither of us have anything to say.

"Whatever she might have done, you'll need to keep a close eye on her once the Games begin, that's for sure," Ludo adds. "At this point, even a poor interview and her training score will carry her towards sponsor support. Along with Eleven, District Twelve has the fewest victors. If there's ever going to be an underdog story, people will be supporting her."

I nod, feeling more frustrated and anxious than ever. The other Careers are very much the devil I know. Not to be taken lightly, but a threat I feel I can understand. But this girl... I have no idea what to expect from her. And yet somehow the Gamemakers believe she is more dangerous than all of us.

When I woke this morning, I felt that everything was going as expected. How wrong I was...

" _In other news, respected journalist and reporter Sandra Davis has become the latest in a line of influential women spotted in the company of notable Hunger Games victor Finnick Odair. His excursions among us may be common knowledge, but..._ "

The TV reporter's words cut through my thoughts, snapping me back into focus as Ludo shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

"Bella, turn the TV off," he asks his sister, who obliges, but not before I'm on my feet, enraged.

"What the hell's going on here?" I snap at Ludo. "I thought you said Finnick had somewhere important to be!"

When Ludo replies, his voice is calm and steady, although I can see he's having to make an effort to keep it that way. "He is. It's not what they're suggesting it is."

"Right now it just looks like he doesn't care enough about either of us and would rather be trying to get some pretty young woman into his bed." I know the comment is going too far, but honestly, I'm pissed off. Everything that's happened today, all the frustrations I've felt, have led to this moment where I need to let off some steam, and I don't care who's standing in my way. All the resentment I've felt about my situation with the other Careers, about having a useless mentor, is waiting to come rushing out of me.

Ludo's eyes flash dangerously, glaring at me. I can tell that I've touched a nerve, and in my current mindset, I don't care.

"Don't talk about what you don't understand," Ludo warns me, gripping the arms of his seat firmly.

"Honestly, Ludo, this whole situation is a joke. After years and years of work in the Training Centre, all the hours I've put in to get ready for the Hunger Games, I don't even get one of the victors that trained me as a mentor!" Ludo glares at me, rising from his seat to face me, ignoring the cries from our stylists to calm down. Gabriella looks scared, hunched up in her seat. I keep my eyes focused on the victor in front of me, not willing to look away from his challenge.

"Never mind that, I don't even get a mentor that wants to be here. He does nothing to help in District 4, and even less here in the Capitol. Why couldn't we have had Julian or Harrow, Auriel or Georgie? We have so many great victors that could have been here helping me, but instead I'm stuck with _him_."

There's no mistaking the move that Ludo makes, squaring up to me. He might be a couple of inches shorter than me, but years of work at the Training Centre have left him in as good a shape as any of this year's set of Careers. It's no surprise that I've pushed a button; Finnick is one of his closest friends.

"I don't know how you let him get away with it," I spit at Ludo, glad of an opportunity to vent. "He makes you do twice the work on your own. It's a complete disgrace."

"Look, I'll give you one more chance to back off," Ludo replies, his voice lower and more threatening than I've ever heard it before. Compared to Julian and Harrow, whose anger and sharp tongues drive habits into you during training, Ludo was always the quiet victor. He always reminded me of the one teacher at school who let everyone have a laugh, helping you along rather than dragging you to improve. I've rarely heard him raise his voice before, and yet this is something different entirely.

Suddenly I am reminded that, despite the person that Ludo chooses to be every day training us in District 4, I am face to face with a victor; a calculating killer with the knowledge of a hundred ways to put me down in a fight. Looking into his eyes as he challenges me, I can't help feeling just as I did on the first day I walked into the Training Centre; small, alone and vulnerable.

"If you win the Games this year, there will be a time when you understand why Finnick has been so distant," Ludo continues, his voice sending shivers up my spine. "I can't expect you to understand now, but you should know by now that you need to close your mind off to distractions like this. Haven't I been telling you this for years?"

I feel like I am being scolded by a teacher in class. Trying to keep the blush from my cheeks, I nod, the anger inside me beginning to deflate.

"Exactly," Ludo continues, taking his first step backwards. I can see visible sighs of relief from Gabriella and Bellatrix. "You're not the first tribute who has challenged me like this, who has called me out on our district using Finnick as a mentor. Tributes both better and worse than yourself have taken up the same issues with me before. Both you and Gabriella know that, from the years I have spent training you, I do not keep information from you unnecessarily. If you cannot forgive Finnick for his actions, then that is not for me to judge you. But please remember that, in his own way, he is playing his part to help our district. We haven't won three of the last four Hunger Games by accident, you know."

"Fine," I say, taking a step backwards towards the door, the anger fading into disappointment. After everything that's happened today, I need some space. "Let's say there is a reason for him to be gone. I'm not going to get an answer, so I'll just have to go along with it, anyway. I need some time to think, so I'll speak to you all later."

I don't wait for anyone to speak before walking out of the room, ignoring Gabriella calling my name as I shut the door behind me.

It's amazing how much can change in a day. Annoying my allies, being outshone in training, insulting and challenging my one valuable mentor...

The only thought that saves me from getting angry again is the knowledge that if so much can go wrong in one day, so much can be put right in the next.

I need to throw all of this behind me and focus on preparing for the interviews. I know I can still recover from this.

I just need to show everyone else that I can, too.

* * *

 **A/N: This chapter ended up being much, much longer than expected... Still, if you enjoyed it, please review! As ever, constructive criticism is welcomed :)**

 **This chapter featured one of District 4's mentors, Ludo Robertson, quite heavily - he's a character I've written a great deal about before over the past six or so years. If you're interested, you can find out more about in three stories I've written around him; _Second Time Unlucky_ , _Mentor_ and the currently unfinished _Fight or Flight_ , which I'm hoping to continue writing after completing this fic.**

 **Finally, would anyone be interested in me posting a full set of training scores for this Games at the start of the next chapter? I know most of the scores for the well-known characters are known, but a full list of scores is one of many pieces of information I drew up before starting to write this fic to help with consistency. So if anyone thinks that would be a good idea, please let me know :)**


	9. Smouldering

**A/N: The last chapter ended up being incredibly long, and this one has almost matched it. Apparently I have a lot to say at the moment... Still, I hope that you all enjoy reading it :)**

* * *

 **"I don't like it when they take me to one side**

 **Tell me everything I know is wrong."**

 **\- Phil Campbell, 2013.**

* * *

 **Chapter Nine**

 **Ayra Bailey (15), District 9 Female**

 **8.00 am, Friday 17th July, year of the 74th Hunger Games**

 **The Temperance Movement - Smouldering (2013)**

* * *

I wake up every day with an increased sense of dread, knowing that I am yet another day closer to the arena.

For all of my life, I've been terrified of the Games, this looming threat that has hung over me through all of my younger years, a terrifying reminder of how vulnerable I am living my life in District 9. Every year I can remember, two tributes have been sent to the Capitol each summer, never to lay eyes on our district again. For me, there has only been one obvious way to cope with the stress and anxiety that the Hunger Games invokes in me; to spend as much time as possible pretending that the Games don't exist at all. It's either that or be scared stiff, and I know what the obvious choice there is.

Every year when the Games roll around, I turn up to the reaping and watch all of the required viewing, but I allow my mind to wander as much as possible, distance myself from the action, do anything I can to prevent the panic setting in. It is far too easy to imagine myself in the other tributes' shoes, to give myself horrific nightmares that don't leave me for months.

And for years, this strategy has done me a lot of good; more or less, I've managed to control the extreme anxiety I used to suffer every summer, and I choose to be blissfully ignorant for the rest of the year.

However, my fourth reaping concluded with my name being drawn from the reaping bowl; suddenly, faced with all my fears head-on, I had wished I had spent more time confronting them, rather than hiding away. After years of looking but not really seeing each summer when the Games began, I find myself almost completely unaware of the way the Games work, unfamiliar with what my competition would probably consider popular tactics for winning.

Had the odds been on my side, my strategy of ignorance would have done wonders for me. But now that I'm faced with the arena, I've had to spend this week playing catch-up. Coupled with being younger than most of the other tributes at just fifteen and being one of the shortest of the twenty-four, it didn't surprise me that I scored a four when the training scores were announced last night. Not the worst, but certainly not the best.

Still, I have one more chance to impress potential sponsors before the arena.

Tomorrow night is the traditional interviews; three minutes with Caesar Flickerman on the stage in the City Circle, just outside the Training Centre. Every tribute will have a chance to tell their story. Compared to many other districts, the interviews have often been a strength of my district, which rarely has much luck during training compared to the powerful tributes from the Career districts, who have shown their strengths once again this year.

I take my time to dress today, ready for a different type of training; today my support team is going to help me prepare for my interview.

I meet the rest of my team in our sitting room after a late breakfast; my district partner Harvey, our mentors Marcel and Alexander, and our escort, a middle-aged woman with dyed blue hair called Ava. Marcel and Ellis smile brightly at me as I enter, and Harvey offers me a brief nod of recognition. It is as much contact as I have had with my partner since the reaping. It doesn't surprise me that he doesn't want much to do with me; if I was him, I wouldn't want an ally as weak as I am. He actually managed to score a respectable six from the Gamemakers.

"So," Marcel begins with us all present, clasping his hands together excitedly. He speaks with an enthusiasm I rarely see in other district's victors when they appear on television. "Today is our chance to prepare you for your last obstacle before the arena; your one-on-one interviews tomorrow night."

Both Harvey and I nod slowly.

"These interviews could seriously affect your chances of gaining sponsor support in the arena, for better or worse. This is your chance to appear confident, mentally stable and to show that you know what you're talking about," Marcel continues. "But it's also important to remember that the interviews represent a chance to get potential sponsors to like you as a person, not just respect your ability as a tribute. The compassion of a sponsor is a tool you need to learn how to manipulate. You need to present a side of you that they will warm to; give them a reason to care whether you win the Games or not. Tell them your story, whatever that may be."

"Today, we'll be teaching you everything you need to know to do well tomorrow night," Alexander continues, leaning forwards in his chair. "You'll be spending a few hours each with Ava, who will advise you on how to present yourself during the interviews. Aside from that, Marcel will help Harvey with the content of his interview, as I will help Ayra. Any questions?"

Neither of us have anything to say.

"Well, it's going to be a busy day," Marcel says, getting to his feet. "Ava, why don't you start with Ayra this morning? Harvey, that means you're with me." Nobody has a chance to object before Marcel beckons for Harvey to join him. Alexander follows him out of the room, leaving me alone with my escort.

I hadn't imagined what would take Ava all morning to teach me - I had always thought a lot of the etiquette needed for the interviews was common sense - but I quickly learn otherwise. As Ava begins to fire practice questions at me, she picks up on my every mistake; any time I slouch, stammer, frown or glare. My parents would be furious if they saw me here. This is all stuff I know, things that my parents have drilled into years of trying to make me a polite, respectable young woman. However, it seems to go out of my head so quickly when I don't focus on it, slipping into lazy habits. It takes me a long time to reach the point where I'm no longer having to think about sitting up straight or ending my sentences with a smile.

It's little surprise that by the time Ava's done with me and we take a break for lunch before my session with Alexander, I'm already mentally exhausted, not at all in the correct state of mind for several more hours of interview training.

I meet Alexander in the sitting room after lunch, hoping that this half of the preparation will be easier than the first. However, I know that if anyone is going to do a good job of training me in how to succeed at the interviews, it's Alexander. Just like Marcel before him, Alexander's interview set him up with levels of sponsor support that outweighed his ability. When his Games slowed to a war of attrition, the support of his many sponsors gave him the supplies he needed to outlast his competition until he could take the victory.

My mother has told me that, when I was a few months old, I was taken with the flu during a horrendous winter, and there was a while where it wasn't clear whether I was going to live or not. Obviously I don't remember this now, but I've been told that a large part of the reason I survived the winter in such a fragile state was because of the support sent from the Capitol once a month on Parcel Day; our regular prizes claimed for a year following the victory of one of our district's tributes. The summer before, Alexander Neville had won the Hunger Games for District 9.

So, in a sense, Alexander's prowess in front of the cameras is the reason I'm still here today.

"Ayra," Alexander says as I join him in the sitting room, gesturing to a chair next to him. "Take a seat." I do what he says before he continues speaking. "If you want to do well tomorrow night, the most important thing I can suggest to you is that we give the audience a reason to root for you. As your training score is fairly low, you're not going to win over sponsors easily through your talent unless you manage to take someone down on your own, or survive late into the Games. As both of those take time, skill and throwing yourself into a reasonable amount of danger unprotected, the best option is to make the audience like you tomorrow and win over popular support that way."

"That makes sense to me," I say quietly. If there's a way I can get at least a few sponsors to take me on without throwing myself into danger, I'm all for giving it my best shot.

"The easiest way to make the audience love you is to give them a reason to care for you," Alexander explains. "A reason why they would want you to win the Games and get back home. Let's say you're avenging an older sibling who died in the Games, or you need to get back home to a boyfriend you promised you'd win for."

"But I don't have a boyfriend," I say. "And none of my family have been in the arena before. Do you think I should just make something up that sounds believable?"

"No," Alexander replies. "It's best to be honest; fabricating stories will make you sound less genuine, and you'll be caught out eventually, completely blowing the chance for you to get any more support after that. If we can find something to work with, even if it takes a while to think of what that might be, then we can make sure all of Panem has a reason to care about you."

I nod, closing my eyes as I desperately look inwards at myself, searching for a reason why the audience might care whether I live or die, why they might want me to succeed in the arena. It doesn't take me long before my mind focuses in on one thing; one thing that the Capitolites in attendance tomorrow night will definitely relate to.

"Alexander," I say confidently, looking up at him. "I think I've got it..."

* * *

Even though I've got a plan, I'm trembling as I follow Aidan from District 8 onto the stage for the interviews. The entire City Circle is bathed in bright lights; I try not to look outwards too much, try not to give away my nerves as I follow Aidan to my seat. All of the tributes are required to sit in a semi-circle at the back of the stage in their order of appearance for the evening; first the girl from each district, then the boy. Out there in the City Circle, thousands of people have gathered to watch the interviews, with special seats saved for stylists, Gamemakers, mentors and past victors. In homes all around Panem, families will be tuned in on their televisions. The interviews are mandatory viewing for everyone. Somewhere, my parents and my sister will be watching nervously.

Perhaps tonight will be the last time they ever get to hear my voice.

The thought scares me, but before I'm given time to think about it, Caesar Flickerman bursts onto the stage wearing his ever-present midnight blue suit, this year with powder blue hair and make-up to match. A significant improvement on last year's blood red. Even though there are a lot of tributes to get through before my interview, Caesar's appearance reminds me why I'm here, and my thoughts immediately return to my own interview.

I'm lost in my own thoughts as Caesar warms up the crowd, only focusing again on the action on the stage as he introduces the first tribute of the night, Glimmer Martin from District 1, who would probably be breaking a law if she was wearing anything less than she is. It's obvious how her mentor, Cashmere, wants her to be presented. I try to listen to what she is saying, but everything about experiencing the interviews from this perspective, from the immediacy of Caesar being just a few feet from me, the other tributes selling themselves in front of me, to the swells and roars of the Capitol crowds, leaves me feeling overwhelmed.

Trying to make sure I don't have a panic attack on stage - definitely not a recommended strategy for winning sponsors - I try to disassociate myself from the occasion, withdrawing into my thoughts at times, settling with just hearing the gist of what each tribute is saying. I know what they are trying to portray themselves as, and hopefully I will still be able to pick up some hints about how they're going to act in the arena.

The Careers pass without anything shocking happening. Marvel holds himself with the swagger of a prize-fighter; Cato boasts of his power, pride and inherited vicious edge. Clove is cruel and unforgiving, Caspian is an expert strategist, Gabriella is a hard worker who will never give in.

The interviews continue, and I find myself quietly impressed with Ashleen from District 5, who answers all of Caesar's questions with cryptic half-answers, leaving the audience with more questions to be answered than they had before the interview. She never had to say a thing about herself, and she's certainly gained intrigue. If only I had thought of that! Not that it would have mattered; as Ashleen is from Five, she's been able to show this strategy before I've had a chance to speak.

It isn't long before Aidan Frost is walking to the centre of the stage, and the presence of the empty seat next to me shocks me to my senses. My mouth feels dry, my hands numb. I have never been good with nerves, and having my words broadcast to the entire nation is certainly enough to get me to worry. Especially with how much weight there is behind them.

Compared to some of those before him, Aidan's interview was relatively poor, something I'm immensely grateful for as Caesar Flickerman calls my name, the City Circle full of polite applause. I'm amazed that my legs aren't visibly shaking as I walk slowly towards my seat.

 _Just three minutes... Come on, Ayra, you can do this._

"Ayra Bailey," Caesar says, greeting me as I take my seat. "Welcome to the Capitol. I bet this place has given you quite a shock, hasn't it?"

For a moment, my brain goes completely blank. _Think, Ayra, think..._

"You can say that again," I stammer out, and Caesar chuckles.

"I can imagine," Caesar says. "I've never been out to District Nine myself, but I imagine my reaction would be much the same if I suddenly found myself there! Now, your mentors have given me the impression that you're something of a quiet type, but I'm sure that our audience would like to see differently! Tell me, Ayra, what makes you tick? Any passions, desires in life, any friends supporting you from home, maybe your family? Give us the details."

"You don't ask for much," I say sarcastically, buying myself a few seconds to think as the audience laugh. "My life's pretty boring, you know? There's not a great deal to do in Nine, if you don't count harvesting wheat."

"Is there anything in District Nine that makes you believe you've got an edge in the Games?" Caesar asks. I know I've been vague; he's struggling to find relevant questions to ask, just as I'm struggling to steer the conversation towards what I want to talk about. It had seemed so easy with Alexander yesterday...

"Well, if there are wheat fields, I won't starve. I guess that'll let me take the hunger out of the Hunger Games, at least." There's another laugh from the audience, and some polite applause. I try my best to sit straight and smile, as Ava taught me to.

"Well, that might just give you an edge," Caesar admits with a smile. "So, let's say you do manage to win the Games. Who is there at home that will be celebrating your victory? Any friends, any family? I imagine they would be very proud to welcome home a victor."

"Well, there is my family," I say. "I know my parents would be over the moon if I manage to make it back to District Nine. There's also my sister, although I don't know what she thinks, as I haven't spoken to her in years."

"And why's that?"

"She signed up for the draft." I can hear murmurs of sympathy from the crowd; they can relate to separated families.

"Now, that is tough," Caesar admits. "For those of you who aren't aware, the draft takes place every September, where thirty young men and women from the districts with essential skills are chosen to come and work in the Capitol. Is there anyone here tonight who was drafted?" Caesar asks the audience, and I'm surprised to hear half a dozen people call back to him, including a stylist I don't recognise, which surprises me. However, none of the voices sounded like my sister.

"Now, if you don't mind me asking," Caesar continues. "Who is your sister? What does she do?"

"Her name is Colette Bailey," I reply certainly. "She's a chef. She must be twenty-five by now."

"And you haven't seen her in years?" Caesar asks gently.

"Not since I was nine," I reply. Telling Caesar that makes me realise just how long it's been since I've seen her, and I'm struck with a powerful wave of longing that almost catches me off guard.

"That must mean you haven't had a chance to say goodbye to her since the reaping," Caesar clarifies solemnly, and there are more compassionate murmurings from the audience. "If you could speak to her now, do you have anything you would want to say to her?"

"Of course," I say, trying to sound confident. "That I'm trying my best to win, and that I'll be sure to come and find her here in the Capitol after I've won. I've missed her so much."

"Of course you have," Caesar says. "And you might just see her after the Games, too. Now, if that isn't something to fight for, I don't know what is." Caesar looks out at the audience, and I find some of them applauding me, cheering me on. Maybe my strategy has actually managed to work as planned!

"Well, that is all we have time for today," Caesar concludes, taking my hand as he raises it in the air. "I wish you the best of the luck in the Games tomorrow. Ladies and gentlemen, here's to Ayra Bailey of District Nine!"

The applause washes over me as I return to my seat, and I allow myself a minute of slacking to recover my nerves. I might not have stolen the show, but I'm certain that I didn't suck.

At worst, I've still dodged the bullet of being marked as one of the weaklings who won't even bother to defend themselves.

I barely pay attention to District 10's interviews, and between quiet Rue and sullen Thresh, there isn't much to listen to from District 11, either. Then it's Katniss, the girl from Twelve who scored the highest of all during training and made such a splash at the parade with her flames. Her interview is by-the-numbers compared to many tonight, but another bit of trickery from her stylist gets the crowd on their feet for her, anyway.

Finally, it is the turn of the boy from Twelve; the last of the twenty-four. Expecting nothing to compete with the highlights of the night, I allow myself to relax, to switch off, to try and begin winding down from all of the stresses that have been building inside me all evening. I've managed to get past this latest test.

I'm so focused on myself that I almost don't hear him say it; the one sentence that Peeta Mellark uses to blow the rest of us out of the water.

"Because... Because she came here with me."

* * *

 **A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! Constructive criticism is welcomed.**

 **The arena's starting to get close... :)**


	10. One Point Perspective

**A/N: Thanks to melliemoo for reviewing the last chapter! The support is appreciated :)**

 **Compared to many chapters, I feel that the lyrics for this chapter really do fit the mindset for the night before the Games - I can see this one working out well!**

 **As ever, I hope that you all enjoy reading today's chapter :)**

* * *

 **"By the time reality hits**

 **The chimes of freedom fell to bits**

 **The shining city on the fritz**

 **They come out of the cracks, thirsty for blood**

 **Just as the apocalypse finally gets prioritised**

 **And you cried some of the hottest tears you ever cried, multiplied by five."**

 **\- Alex Turner, 2018.**

* * *

 **Chapter Ten**

 **Vivian Hayes (17), District 10 Female**

 **11.30 pm, Saturday 18th July, year of the 74th Hunger Games**

 **Arctic Monkeys - One Point Perspective (2018)**

* * *

We are silent in the elevator back up to the tenth floor of the Training Centre for my final night in the Capitol that, quite probably, will be my last night anywhere. Tomorrow the Games begin, and in almost seventy-five years, hardly anyone as small or as weak as me has managed to escape the arena alive.

It goes without saying that the odds certainly won't be in my favour tomorrow.

Everything that has happened to me this week has felt as though it's been happening to someone else, which in a way I'm grateful for, as my entire experience in the Games has been a disaster. Ignored during the opening ceremonies, only managing a five in training, a nervous wreck during my interview tonight that even Caesar Flickerman struggled to pull me through. Needless to say, I doubt I'll have any help from sponsors this year. Especially after that announcement by Peeta from Twelve...

My district partner Angus stands next to me in the elevator, looking firmly away from me out of the window, his fists clenched. I can tell that he is as frustrated as anyone by Peeta's interview; as I'm sure he realises, the boy from District 12 has made himself unforgettable, and by extension, he has made everyone else average at best. I've had almost no contact with Angus since the reaping; being younger, smaller and far more timid than him, I get the impression that he didn't want to waste his time with me. He's been trying to sneak his way into other tributes' alliances all week; clearly he views me as competition and not as an ally, so I've taken to keeping my distance from him, too.

With this rift, which my mentor Indiana insists is commonplace during the Games, our district's team has become divided. I rarely see anything of Angus or his mentor, Fernando James.

The elevator reaches our destination and the doors slide open. Both Angus and I move to step out of the elevator, but our escort reaches out and grabs us both by the hand, stopping us.

"This is where our journey comes to a close," she says, a trace of tears in the corner of her eyes. Of all the people I've met in the Capitol, she's the most ditzy and clueless of the lot. "And I just wanted to tell you both what an honour it's been to escort you this year. You've been wonderful and such an inspiration to me... You are so strong, you actually have a good chance of winning this if you work together!"

Angus and I exchange a quick, confused glance at each other. Has she been paying attention to anything that's happened this week? She must know there's no chance of us remaining on the same side tomorrow.

Neither of us really know what to say until Angus speaks up.

"It's been a pleasure, Marie," Angus says, grasping her hand. Marie gives a nervous gasp, then quickly pulls us both into very tight hugs - giving Angus slightly more space because of his injured knee - the tears threatening to make another appearance.

"You'll do your district proud," she says, releasing us as the elevator doors begin to close. "I believe in you."

Then the doors block her from view, and we are alone in the corridor. It doesn't take long for our mentors to appear; they returned to our floor after the interviews before we could get here.

"Good job tonight," Fernando smiles, and Angus shrugs, walking past all of us using a cane into the sitting room. Fernando follows, leaving me alone with Indiana again. For the first time in hours, I breathe a sigh of relief and try to relax, difficult as that may be given the circumstances.

Indiana, reading my mood well, leads me to my bedroom, sitting me on the bed as she leans against a dresser. Locking the door behind us, she looks across at me, her face showing obvious concern.

"How are you feeling, Vivian?" Indiana asks me.

"How do you think I feel?" I say defeatedly. "I'm less than twelve hours from the start of the Hunger Games, and I know I don't have a chance of winning." It is the first time I have admitted that out loud, and the thought of giving up is almost as scary to me as my impending death. I feel myself beginning to choke up as I become, for the first time, truly aware of what is happening to me. There are no more obstacles in the way now; first I sleep, and then I must fight to the death.

Before I know it I am crying, and Indiana crosses the room towards me, putting a hand over my shoulder as the panic, the sorrow, the fear comes flooding out of me in sobs. I grip her hands with mine and we stay there silently for a long time; to her credit, my mentor never moves or gives any indication that she feels burdened. Indiana has always been fuelled by empathy.

For most of the years since her victory, Indiana has volunteered to work at the school in our district, helping to nurture our next generation. It was years before I knew my favourite teacher, Miss James, was even a victor. I didn't make the connection until I was eight or nine. Frightened and dependent as I was when I was a young child, she understood me in a way that few others did at school. Maybe, once upon a time, she had been as frightened as me. I have no doubt she was terrified of the Games, just as I am. We aren't taught to enjoy the Hunger Games in District 10 like they are in some of the other districts.

So, in a strange way, Indiana's comfort calms me in a way that I had never expected, making me feel like a young child again. _Make it all go away..._

* * *

Whatever good Indiana may have done last night, I wake with a heavy sense of dread when my stylist, an elderly man called Artem who's been our district's stylist since before my parents were born, wakes me just after dawn. I go through the motions for possibly the last time without thinking about anything. In just a few hours I might be dead; is it possible to think about anything else?

Artem, who strikes me as old-fashioned but with good intentions, wears a look of concern as he leads me into the elevator for the last time. For a change, instead of taking me down towards the entrance and the gymnasium, I'm taken upwards, past all twelve floors to the roof, where I wait in the crisp, clear dawn for a hovercraft to take me to the arena. It appears suddenly above me, as though it materialised out of thin air. I'm slightly taken aback as a ladder drops to the surface of the roof, which I grasp before it pulls me upwards into the hovercraft.

Almost as soon as I'm into the hovercraft, a Capitol doctor approaches me and injects me with something that she insists is just a tracker, so that the Gamemakers can keep tabs on me in the area. The experience unnerves me slightly, but before I can stress about it any further, Artem is by my side again, and he leads me along the walkways within the hovercraft towards a small dining room. It is the first time I have ever flown; I expect this to make a large impression on me, but I am far too preoccupied to give it much thought.

In the dining room, an Avox provides me with a banquet of breakfast foods fit for the president, and despite my terrible nerves I find myself eating as much as I can, desperate to take this time to store up on food and energy. Once in the arena, who knows how often I'll be able to eat?

Artem sits across the table from me, staring out of the window in silence as the Capitol disappears further and further from view. He knows as well as I do that I need space and time to think. Eventually the windows black out and Artem gets to his feet, ready to move. We must be close to the arena; I guess we aren't meant to see the arena from above before the Games.

Eventually the hovercraft lands, and I'm ushered out of the dining room. I grab one last piece of toast from the table as I leave, desperate for as much food as I can get. We walk out of the hovercraft straight into the catacombs deep beneath the arena. Two Capitol attendants walk alongside us as we're led down busy tunnels towards the Launch Room, where I will make my final preparations for the Games.

Eventually we reach the Launch Room, and Artem lets me enter first. The room is small and roughly square-shaped, with white walls and artificial lighting. In a small alcove to the side, there is a shower and a toilet. On a single wooden bench along one side of the room sits a bag that contains the clothes I am to wear into the arena. It will be identical for each of us. At the back of the room sits the pedestal, identical to all of those used throughout the years, that I will have to stand on at ten o'clock, lifting me into the arena. Just the sight of the pedestal sends shivers down my spine.

A glance at a small clock on the wall tells me I have twenty minutes before the 74th Hunger Games begin. Just twenty minutes... When your time runs this short, suddenly every second feels important.

Artem gives me a minute to compose myself while he sorts through the clothes I've been provided with; a light green blouse, tawny trousers, a thick belt and a thin black hooded jacket, lined with a type of reflective material. Skin-tight socks and soft leather boots complete my outfit. Artem believes that the arena could be cold, as the jacket's inner lining is designed to reflect body heat. If I had to pick, I would rather face the cold than unbearable heat.

"If you want your district token," I've got it here, Artem tells me, holding out a small brass hairpin. When I told Indiana last night that I had nothing from my district, she insisted that I take something to remind me of her in the arena. If she can calm me down, maybe having something of hers with me during the Games will calm me down, too.

"Thanks," I say, grasping the hairpin tightly in my hand. I choose to tuck it into a pocket in my jacket so I don't lose it.

"You and Indiana have a plan sorted, I presume?" Auric asks me. He has been a distant figure for much of the last week.

I nod, not wanting to talk about it any more. I would rather spend as much time as possible thinking about anything other than the Games. But as the seconds drift by, as the minute hand crawls closer to twelve, I can't shake the fear from my mind.

A day ago, I was ready to give up; I know that I'm not good enough to win the Games, I understand how little of a chance I have. Wouldn't it be easier just to give up, to run to my death on the first day rather than suffer for weeks, just to reach the same destination with more pain?

Somewhere along the way during the last day, mostly since speaking to Indiana after the interviews last night, I've found myself less and less willing to give up. The proximity of the Hunger Games, the knowledge of how soon the end must be coming, has awoken something primal in me, an urge to go on that I never knew I had in me. With just a few minutes to go before I'm required to stand on the pedestal and begin the final short stretch of my journey to the arena, there is only one sentence running round and round in my head.

 _I don't want to die._

Eventually a woman's voice comes from a speaker above, telling me that I have thirty seconds to get onto the pedestal. Artem steadies me as my shaking legs carry me forwards towards the pedestal, which feels unforgiving beneath my feet.

"Good luck, Vivian," Artem tells me sympathetically. I can see the pain in his face as he lets go of my hand; I can tell he doesn't think I'll win. "You're going to be a star."

Before I can reply, a glass cylinder slides down around me and our contact is cut off. The pedestal begins to rise, and I watch the Launch Room disappear beneath me as I'm thrust into darkness as I ascend. It is so quiet I can hear my rampant heartbeat.

Suddenly I burst out into bright sunlight that dazzles me as I feel the sun on my back, a strong wind carrying an unfamiliar smell with it.

Somewhere overhead, I hear the voice of legendary announcer Claudius Templesmith boom out.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games begin!"

 _Here we go..._

* * *

 **A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! Constructive criticism is welcomed.**

 **I feel I should also mention that, if anyone is interested, I have written more about each of the victors used as mentors in this story across several of my other fics, most notably _75 Games, 75 Victors, 75 Oneshots_ and _75 Games: Meet the Victors!_**

 **I'll be back with the next chapter, where the action takes a violent turn, very soon :)**


	11. Until the Earth Would Open

**A/N: We're finally at the start of the Games!**

 **This chapter was the fastest and easiest write of any chapter so far - then again, it is the sort of chapter I've written countless times since starting to post on this site. I'd like to think I've got the knack of it by now...**

 **I hope you all enjoy reading the chapter :)**

* * *

 **"I won't survive, and I'll give redemption a miss**

 **I will proceed, and I will ration the risk**

 **I won't survive - nobody does."**

 **\- Paul Smith, 2012.**

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven**

 **Jason Gray (17), District 6 Male**

 **9.59 am, Sunday 19th July, Day 1 of the 74th Hunger Games**

 **Maxïmo** **Park - Until the Earth Would Open (2012)**

* * *

The second I rise into the arena, I'm using my hands to shield my eyes from the bright sun. I have just sixty seconds until the Hunger Games begin, just sixty seconds until the mad charge towards the golden horn of the Cornucopia to grab whatever supplies I can. Until then, I need to use every second to my advantage, to learn as much as I can about the arena.

As my eyes become adjusted to the light, I realise we are on a flat, open plain of hard-packed earth, ringed by trees on the far side of the Cornucopia and a lake to my left. Looking behind me, the ground slips away beyond a ridge, far too steep for me to know what lies behind me. Directly ahead of me is the Cornucopia, its gleaming metal glistening in the morning sun. Around it, supplies spill out across the ground, becoming more sparse and less valuable the further they lie from the horn. Around fifteen yards away I spot a knife lying on the ground; in the Cornucopia's mouth I spot at least three swords, a bow with arrows and chests presumably stacked with food and medical supplies.

My mentor Ellis has always made it clear to me that there are two plans of action at the start of the Games, both with their own risks; play it safe and clear out while everyone else is still fighting, or take a gamble and throw myself into the mix at the Cornucopia. The way I've been looking at this, I'm unlikely to win the Games either way, and if I leave without getting any supplies, I'll be permanently at a disadvantage whenever I come up against any of the more threatening tributes, such as the Careers, later in the Games. If I commit to fighting today, we will all be on an even playing field, at least for the first minute or two until everyone has found weapons. If I can manage to get through the usual bloodbath and come out with some supplies, when the Careers are comparatively less of a threat, I'll stand a much better chance of outlasting them later in the Games. If I want to play the long game - and really, that's the only sensible way of playing the Hunger Games - I need to commit to getting as much from the Cornucopia as I can.

I position my feet facing towards the Cornucopia, preparing to jump forward and sprint inwards at the sound of the gong. My eyes focus in on the knife in the dirt ahead of me; it will by my first target. That way, I'll already be armed by the time I reach the Cornucopia. I glance to both sides, looking at the tributes that make up my immediate competition. To my left is Thresh from District 11; he scored a ten in training, so I'll make sure to give him a wide berth if possible when the gong rings. Thankfully, he seems to have his eyes focused on tributes further round the circle from me; I can make out the figure of Sextus Cato through the glare of the sun, five or six pedestals away from me. To my right is Aidan from District 8, and beyond him is Gabriella, the closest Career Tribute to me. Much like Thresh, she seems preoccupied, focusing only on the Cornucopia, her eyes locked on her target.

I'm hoping that I can somehow escape unnoticed between Thresh and Gabriella, but I don't really have any options but to try it.

With little else to do to prepare myself before the gong rings, I focus on the knife I'm aiming for and wait patiently.

Every second feels like an hour.

The gong rings out loud and clear over the arena, and everyone bursts into action. I waste little time sprinting inwards towards the knife but Aidan's faster than me, barely breaking his stride as he reaches down to pick up the blade, continuing his momentum towards the Cornucopia without glancing back. I dig my heels in behind him, kicking myself off in another direction. There's no point being the first person to arrive behind a boy with a knife. I weave between Gabriella and the boy from Seven, continuing to move inwards. Ahead of me, I hear the first cries of joy, of pain, the first calls from ally to ally, the sound of metal striking metal. The fighting has already begun.

I fix my eyes on a brown wooden chest lying in the dirt ten or fifteen metres from the Cornucopia that happens to have been glossed over by the tributes who beat me in the race inwards. Kneeling in front of it, I heave the lid off and pore through its contents. There is a lot of food, some matches and plenty of bandages and other medical supplies; I can see at least three small packs of unidentifiable pills. However, there doesn't seem to be a weapon or any sort of bag. How am I going to carry any of this stuff?

Even though it's only the middle of the morning, I can already tell the day is going to be a scorcher, and the reflective lining of my jacket has left me hot and flustered already, despite only having only made a short sprint. A part of me wants to rip it off, to give my skin room to breathe, but I don't want to lose anything this early in the Games, and I could really do with the pockets. I grab some small packets of grains and nuts and a small box of matches - I don't have room to carry much else - and rummage to the depths of the chest, searching for anything I can use as a weapon.

All around me I can hear the cries of pain and exertion, the ragged breathing of tributes fighting for their lives. The Careers appear to have joined together, and are beginning to turn their attention to the other tributes. It won't be long before one of them targets me.

Down one side of the chest my hand scrapes against something sharp. Pulling it out, I find it's a small, curved knife. _A weapon!_

As much as I know I need a bag to carry more supplies, I'm aware that I'm almost out of time. At least I have a knife now; I'll have a way to defend myself if I get jumped by someone in the woods, which is where I hope to make my getaway.

Standing up, I turn to survey the scene around me, looking for an exit route.

I don't think I could ever have been prepared for the scene that I'm met with.

All around me there is death; the bodies of several tributes lie discarded and broken on the floor, a dozen more still fighting. Even as I look on for just a moment, I see Caspian cut down the girl from Seven with a sword, I watch as Clove hurls knives after Katniss, but she's already sprinting away, out of range. Closer to me, I see Marvel kneeling down to slit Aidan's throat as he whimpers, ripping the knife from his hand - the knife I almost had - and passing it to Gabriella, who looks around for a target.

Before she can choose me, I turn away from her and run, hugging tight to the Cornucopia to hide me from sight. The lake stretches out ahead of me; if I can run a bit further round, I can head straight ahead into the woods-

The spear punches me in the chest before I'm aware of it, knocking me backwards into the dirt, my head clattering into the hot metal of the Cornucopia on my way down. Pain shoots from my chest to my extremities, my nerves ablaze as I struggle to my knees, not daring to remove the spear.

I don't get a chance to get to my feet before I'm kicked hard in the ribs, knocking me flat on my back as the pain doubles. I cry out in pain instinctively as I see the monstrous figure of Sextus Cato stand over me, silhouetted in the sun. He carries a sword in one hand, the other reaching for the spear still buried in my chest. I'm powerless to resist as he places one of his feet on my shoulder, pinning me down and gaining leverage to pull the spear from my body. I don't feel it when it leaves, but I'm suddenly aware of how much blood there is. All of it is mine.

I'm gasping and helpless as Cato drops the spear on the ground beside me, both of his hands on the hilt as he raises his sword.

There is a burst of pain, a shattering sensation and then nothing at all.

* * *

 **A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! :)**

 **There will be one more chapter focused on the bloodbath, from an entirely different perspective, which I hope to post tomorrow :)**


	12. Taro

**A/N: Before I started writing this story, there were two scenes I wanted to write about that aren't shown in the original book that I really wanted to write about. This is the first of them.**

 **I hope that you all enjoy the chapter :)**

* * *

 **"A violent wrench grips mass, rips light, tears limbs like rags."**

 **\- Joe Newman, 2012.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twelve**

 **Glimmer Martin (18), District 1 Female**

 **9.59 am, Sunday 19th July, Day 1 of the 74th Hunger Games**

 **Alt-J - Taro (2012)**

* * *

 _Sixty seconds to go..._

One glance around me tells me all I need to know about the arena; we haven't been handed a massive curveball, like the year that there were four separate Cornucopias with six tributes at each, or the year that the entire Games was held in a vast sports hall with zero shelter. Or like the First Quarter Quell, where the Hunger Games took place on an active volcano. Thinking about it, there was a volcano in the arena for the Second Quell, too; maybe when I win this, that gives me a clue about what the arena will be like for the tribute I mentor next year...

"Focus, Glimmer," I mutter to myself under my breath. I can't afford any stray thoughts now, even though I'm still furious that I wasn't allowed to bring my district token into the arena. I'm really not a sentimental person, so Cashmere and I decided way back before the reaping that we'd try to smuggle a weapon into the arena under the disguise of a token. I don't care that I don't have a token with me, anyway, and it's not like the Gamemakers can punish me for trying to bring a weapon in. Am I not being punished enough already?

Scanning the arena, I try to follow the most basic pieces of advice we're given in the Training Centre in District 1, something that Ruby, Sapphire, Cashmere and Gloss have drilled into me over seven difficult years. _Before you go anywhere, always make sure it is safe._

There is nothing close to the Cornucopia that suggests any danger - aside from the usual threats - or any reason why I shouldn't jump straight into the action. Some years the Gamemakers have left traps at the Cornucopia, including one famous example where they blew the whole thing up, wiping out the entire Career pack.

Knowing that I will have plenty of time to survey the rest of the arena away from the Cornucopia after the bloodbath, my attention turns to the pedestals close to me, searching for my allies. On my left is the girl from Five; on my right is the boy from Twelve, Peeta, who catches my eye briefly before looking past me towards his district partner, the girl who has showed us all up in the Capitol. She's four or five pedestals to my left. Just beyond her is Clove, roughly at my nine o'clock; Cato is at my three. I presume the rest of my allies are hidden behind the Cornucopia.

Knowing that I'm definitely committing to running all the way to the centre of the Cornucopia, to throw myself right into the thick of things from the start, I start picking my targets; what supplies I want to grab first. I'm not aiming to make a quick getaway - all of the Careers will remain at the Cornucopia until our dominance has been asserted and all of the other tributes who remain to fight are dead - so all that matters to me is getting my hands on a decent weapon, and fast.

To earn the right to volunteer at the reaping to become a tribute for District 1, I had to win the trials; a mock Hunger Games held between all of the eighteen-year-olds trained at the Training Centre. Knowing that the trials were my first obstacle, I've spent a lot of time training with Cashmere this year working on beating the other girls from my district. Being a few inches above average height for a woman, I've focused on power weapons; swords and spears. Some of the older victors who work at the Training Centre, like Ruby, believe that I've gone about it the wrong way; that I'll be much less use if I'm stuck with daggers and bows because I've spent so long focusing on using other weapons, and perhaps they have a point.

However, it doesn't matter, as I can see three swords stood together in a rack at the Cornucopia's mouth, clearly placed to be the centre of attention; the most desirable weapons in the arena. Nearby I can see a few spears and a bow, complete with a silver sheath stacked full of arrows. Normally the Career alliance benefits from having a diverse set of tributes, specialising in using a variety of weapons, but unfortunately for us this year, four out of the six of us favour a sword. As competitive as we all are, we agreed on the last day of training that if there weren't enough swords to go around, the tributes with the highest training scores would get priority. While Cato bagged a ten, Caspian, Gabriella and myself all received a score of eight from the Gamemakers. If those three swords are the only ones in the arena, one of us will be going without. I need to make sure it's not me.

There is little else I can do but prepare for the sprint inwards to the Cornucopia, ready to dive straight for those weapons.

The gong crashes overhead, and I'm going before I can even think about it. I can hear the rushing of the wind, the frantic sound of footsteps matching me on either side as I fly forwards over the dirt, all of us forced closer together as we approach the weapons.

Suddenly there's a shove at my shoulder and a tangle of legs; Peeta has kept pace with my sprint, both of us so focused on reaching the same weapons that neither of us paid attention to the other tribute beside us. In a mess of limbs, we both lose our balance and crash to the floor just a few yards from the Cornucopia. Years of trained reactions come to me impulsively, twisting my fall to take the weight on my shoulders, rolling through to rise on to one knee with barely more damage than a graze. Peeta, a clumsy if strong boy without years of careful practice, lacks my grace and takes the fall on his face, his head narrowly missing the sharp and unforgiving corner of a wooden chest.

I try to stand but Peeta grabs one of my ankles with a vice-like grip, blood streaming from his nose as he fumbles open the chest, revealing two short knives on top of stacks of tinned food. He pulls out the knives, still holding my foot with his other hand, and I have little option but to react, attempting a jumping kick with my one free leg. It's a success, connecting cleanly with his jaw and forcing him to release his grip with both hands, causing the knives to crash to the floor along with me.

I land badly, jolts of paint shooting up my back after a jarring impact with my tailbone. I get to my feet again, trying to claim the loose knives, but Peeta rolls over and grabs them with his hands, pulling them in close to his body and out of my reach. It's not worth my time trying to prise them from him, and I doubt he's going anywhere fast with the bleeding he's currently got; they make them weak in District 12.

Looking back at the Cornucopia, my determination falters at the sight of the empty rack where the swords had been; scrapping with Peeta has cost me the chance of bagging my favoured weapon. Now what matters is that I get a weapon from somewhere, that I'm able to defend myself and contribute to the fight. All around me are the sounds of battle; the grunts of exertion, the screams of pain.

I sprint inside the Cornucopia, hoping to find a weapon passed over in the frantic search moments ago, and I'm not disappointed. Near the back, after a little searching, I find a long, straight knife with a clean, razor-sharp blade. It's not a sword, but it will have to do until I get hold of one.

Leaving the Cornucopia again, I see that a lot of the fighting has already taken place. I can only see half of the area around the Cornucopia, but I'm already struggling to count the bodies on one hand. Compared to most years, the Careers seem to have made an easy job of things. The two major threats we had outlined before the Games began - Katniss and Thresh - are nowhere to be seen. Ahead of me I can see Caspian - who I begrudgingly notice has a sword - fighting with Peeta. Nearby, Marvel is standing with Gabriella over the body of the boy from District 8. Two tributes are running for the trees in the distance, clearly wanting nothing to do with our pack of highly-skilled Careers. Everyone else in front of me is either bleeding out or dead.

With little else to do, I turn back on myself around the Cornucopia, hoping there'll be somebody left to fight. The best thing a Career can do to help their betting odds is to get stuck in on day one. Show the audience what you're made of. How can I manage that if everyone here is already dead?

As I reach the far side of the Cornucopia, I see Cato standing over the mauled body of the boy from Six with a bloody sword, his chest heaving from the exertion of killing. Beyond him I can see Clove pinning a young girl to the floor, a knife a her throat; she could finish the job in seconds, but there's a fire in her eyes that suggests to me that she's trying to put on a show for the audience.

There is only one more tribute here, also fleeing into the distance towards sparse, piney woodland; I think it's the girl from District 8, but I can't be sure from this distance. I consider chasing after her, but really she is too far gone.

And with that, the fighting at the Cornucopia on the first day is over.

Or so I think.

Returning to the front of the Cornucopia, I see that Caspian is still locked in a fight with Peeta. His sword lies discarded near them in the dirt, and the pair wrestle on the ground over a lone knife, trading moves and counter-moves as they scramble on the floor. Marvel stands nearby, leaning against the Cornucopia and arranging a set of knives in his belt, seemingly disinterested in Caspian's battle. Gabriella is rooting through supplies within the horn itself, trying to pack a set of bags; she seems just as confident as Marvel that Caspian will win the fight, or otherwise doesn't care who comes out of it on top.

Cato and Clove join Marvel and myself in watching the fight just a few metres from us as Caspian tries to pin Peeta down to the floor, but he can't hold him there for long enough to reach for the knife. He makes an attempt to, reaching up over Peeta's head as he tries to pin the boy from Twelve down, but as he stretches for more leverage Peeta kicks him hard between the legs. Caspian buckles and collapses to one side, giving Peeta just long enough to flip over and reach for the knife.

Before Caspian has a chance to react, Peeta has a knee on each of his shoulders and a knife in each of his hands.

The boy from Four's end is as bloody as it is quick; lacking the finesse of a trained Career, Peeta hacks and hacks at the boy's neck, his face contorted as he tries to block his actions from his mind. He doesn't stop until Caspian's screams are over, until his legs finally stop kicking.

And just like that, the Career alliance is down to five.

I've drawn my knife, beginning to advance on Peeta to finish the job my former ally couldn't do, when Marvel catches me off guard. All of a sudden, he starts to clap slowly, chuckling to himself. I glance across at Cato, unsure what to do, whether we are meant to be attacking this boy. He doesn't stand a chance; it's five on one.

Peeta stands shakily over Caspian's body and turns to face us, his knives hanging loosely in his hands by his side. There are cuts in his trousers, awful bloody scratches on his right forearm. His face is a mess of colour, a large black eye forming and dried blood covering much of his mouth and jaw. His hair is tangled, muddy and sweaty; of all of us, he's fared the worst in this fight.

"You decided that Caspian was good enough for your alliance," Peeta says to us in a challenging tone, his voice trembling much less than I had expected. "Now I've bettered him, so I expect a place in your alliance."

Marvel laughs, more maliciously this time, but he quickly shuts up when he notices Clove glaring at him. Both Gabriella and I turn to look at Cato, but the boy from Two only has eyes for Peeta, sizing him up.

"You're from District Twelve, right?" Cato asks Peeta, who nods even though we all know the answer. "He could be useful," Cato muses. "Having him could help us find _her_."

"Oh, I reckon I have a good idea what Katniss is up to," Peeta says confidently. "Haymitch has been discussing strategy with her in front of me all week."

"He could be worth keeping around, Cato," Gabriella says to him. If the sudden death of her district partner has affected her in any way, she's certainly not showing it at all.

Cato nods, pinching his nose as he thinks. Marvel looks surprisingly nervous, and I try not to grin. After all the arrogance and bravado he's shown for years and years in the Training Centre, finally seeing him humbled enough to take orders from another tribute is surprisingly satisfying.

"Fine," Cato says at long last. "You're in. You've got fifteen minutes to get your kit together, then we're moving out to the edge of the lake so the Gamemakers can collect all of the bodies."

Cato walks towards Peeta purposefully. I think he's going to offer our newest ally a handshake, something to make the alliance official as he did with us on the first day of training, but he walks straight past Peeta to where Caspian's sword lies fallen on the floor. The same courtesies will not be offered to a boy from the outer districts as were given to another full-blooded Career. Cato retrieves the sword and walks back over to us, passing the weapon to Gabriella, who takes it gratefully. None of us move towards Peeta as we continue to watch each other warily. I am not sure what to expect from him; clearly he's strong - he's just beaten a Career Tribute in a one-on-one fight - but I don't know how to read him, and I don't think the others do, either.

"Where's the other sword, Cato?" I ask as he moves away from Gabriella. He carries one along with a spear, and now Gabriella has the second, but I can't see the third anywhere.

"Thresh took off with it," Cato spits at me, clearly frustrated by the affair. I imagine that a brief encounter between the pair earlier in the fighting has left him angered. "What weapons have you got?" he asks me. He has made it clear, in attending to our needs, that he cares what weapons we have, but not Peeta. If he keeps this up, we might not have the boy from Twelve around for long...

"Just a knife," I reply.

"Then take these," Clove says to me, holding out the bow and arrows to me. "You're from One, right?" she adds with a devilish smile.

In recent years, several of District 1's victors have won the Games through being skilled archers; it's become something of a district speciality, just as the males from District 2 nearly always wield swords, Cato being no exception. Even my mentor Cashmere won the Games using a bow. It's no surprise that Clove thinks she's doing me a favour by giving me the bow, but she couldn't be further from the truth.

With all of the hours I've put into close combat in the past couple of years to guarantee winning the trials, I've become almost embarrassingly rusty with a bow.

Still, there is only one thing I can do to try to impress sponsors.

"Thanks," I say, taking the bow and slinging the quiver over one shoulder as Peeta watches me carefully.

I'd better hope I rediscover my aim, and fast.

* * *

 **A/N: That chapter was the most enjoyable to write yet, and I think this fic is only going to become more enjoyable for me now we're into the arena...**

 **I'll be back soon with another chapter :)**


	13. Sheep

**A/N: Thanks to melliemoo for reviewing the last chapter! The support is appreciated :)**

 **As with most of the chapters from now on, this one focuses on a scene described in the original Hunger Games book. I hope you all enjoy reading the chapter :)**

* * *

 **"What do you get for pretending the danger's not real?"**

 **\- Roger Waters, 1977.**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirteen**

 **Scarlett Weaver (13), District 8 Female**

 **7.00 pm, Sunday 19th July, Day 1 of the 74th Hunger Games**

 **Pink Floyd - Sheep (1977)**

* * *

The further I travel from the Cornucopia, I'm aware that the tributes will be spread more thinly and, theoretically, I should be more safe.

However, I feel just as on edge as I did standing on the pedestal at the Cornucopia.

Even if I had managed to sleep well last night, today would still have been the most exhausting of my life. As it stands, I'm surprised I've managed to keep going this long.

Young, small and unfancied as I am, I know that I don't have the strength or the knowledge to survive the arena without supplies, where the Gamemakers' every move serves to unsettle us. And that's without twenty-three other tributes hunting me down.

So I had no choice at the start of the Games but to run inwards towards the Cornucopia, towards the bloodbath. Small and slow as I am, the Careers already had weapons before I arrived, but they had also all already picked their first targets, leaving me free to grab one moderately-sized rucksack and sprint away into the woodland that makes up over half of this year's arena. Since then I've been eager to put as much distance between myself and the dangerous Careers as possible, desperate to make the chances of them stumbling across me as low as possible. The Gamemakers may force us together eventually, but every day that I can get through before then is a bonus.

As I've travelled through the woods today, they have slowly evolved from sparse pine trees to a thicker, more varied covering, which has suited me perfectly. The thicker the foliage, the less likely I am to be spotted.

I have travelled almost all day on edge, not daring to take any time to eat, only stopping briefly to check the contents of my rucksack. It's bright blue; I'm sure the Gamemakers chose a colour that would stand out as much as possible on purpose. Inside it, I've found a flashlight, a pack of matches, a full pack of crackers and a bottle half-filled with water. Conscious that it's the only water I have to sustain me, I've been following the slope of the land, heading down a gentle valley. Eventually, if I keep moving downwards, I am bound to meet a lake, a river, or some other body of water.

Frustratingly, my backpack contains no weapon. Being honest with myself, I doubt I have the skill, the strength or the guts to actually fend anyone off using a weapon, but I feel vulnerable without one. As though I will never be able to take a moment's rest without fearing I might get caught.

As the day has passed, I've continued my slow path through the woods without seeing any signs of another tribute being nearby. The only sign that time has passed is my slow descent, and the sun falling through the sky towards the horizon. Now, in twilight with the light fading around me and my visibility falling quickly, I'm starting to look for a suitable place to stay the night. At first I had thought that I would just find a sheltered tree to lie against (I would attempt to climb, but at my age I'm too short to reach for many of the branches) but as the temperature starts to drop off far more than I had expected, warmth is beginning to become a concern.

Suddenly the lack of shelter begins to panic me; if the night is going to become freezing cold, what am I going to do? Back home in District 8, it isn't uncommon to see the poorest of us suffer through cold winter the nights; those of us who are homeless, or too poor to afford fuel. It wasn't even uncommon so see poor souls huddled in doorways, in bushes, who had been unable to survive the night. The chilling sight of them often tormented me when I was younger.

Before I can think too deeply into the pressing issue of warmth overnight, I'm caught off guard by the sound of the Capitol anthem playing overhead. For a moment I'm confused, but I quickly realise what's going on. The deaths recap! I haven't given it a thought all day. At home when watching the Games, every night they recall who's been eliminated, recapping how they died. Obviously in the arena they won't show us how everyone else died, but we'll be shown their faces on a large screen in the sky. It only makes sense that we know who we're still up against.

Praying that half of the Career Tributes have been eliminated early, I rush to a gap in the trees and look up to where I see the Capitol seal shining brightly in the sky; the hovercraft carrying the screen is invisible.

When the cannons finally fired at the end of the bloodbath earlier today, I made sure to pay attention and keep count effectively as the shots kept coming, all the way up to eleven. Nobody else has died since then, but having eleven tributes out on the first day is still a higher number than most years, if not unheard of. I'm almost halfway home already, although I know that getting this far was, comparatively, the easy bit.

The first face in the sky belongs to Flux, the girl from District 3; honestly I don't remember much about her from my time in the Capitol. I was far too busy worrying about other, more imminent threats to pay much attention to her.

The second tribute shown catches me off guard; Caspian, the boy from Four. I force myself not to cheer, to laugh in excitement, knowing that one of the Careers has been eliminated on the first day. All six of them usually make it into the final ten tributes; I've been given a real dose of luck there.

Sadly, his district partner has made it through, as the next face I see belongs to the boy from District 5, whose name I can't even remember. Even though he's my competition, I feel bad that I can't remember his name. If I don't remember it now, how long will it be before everyone else forgets his name, and he becomes a forgotten statistic in the Games?

How long before I become one of those statistics myself?

I'm snapped out of my momentary panic as more faces appear in the sky. I make sure to keep track of the numbers on my fingers. Jason and Victoria from District 6, Aspen and Veronica from District 7. None of their deaths make much of an impression on me; I would rather the faces of the Careers be shown instead of them, but I can't remember much about any of them but their names and faces. I interacted with none of them during my time in the Capitol; thinking about it, I barely interacted with anyone.

The eighth tribute dead today is one I definitely had contact with; Aidan Frost, my district partner. Just a year older than me, we were poles apart in the Capitol. He was tall, strong and outgoing. I was small, weak and timid. Never wanting to be burdened with me, he ignored me for much of training; all the time he considered finding allies, he never stopped to ask me if I wanted any help in the arena. I don't blame him; I can understand why nobody would want to team up with me. But to see that for all his plans, he never managed to get away from the Cornucopia... It hurts. I know his family; his sister's in my year at school. I can't imagine what today has been like for them.

I'm removed from my thoughts again by the remaining tributes' faces shown in the sky over the arena. The last tributes to have died today. Harvey and Ayra from District 9. The girl from District 10; another one whose name I can't remember...

Then the Capitol seal is back in the sky, the music rises to a final crescendo, and then silence falls over the arena once again. Time to begin the night shift.

Just thirteen tributes left alive now. Only one more death and we're halfway through.

After the relief of getting through the first day unscathed passes, the bitter cold of the night regains my attention. With little shelter, I pick a well-covered tree nearby, wrap myself up in my jacket and try to push the cold from my mind and get a good night's sleep.

However, it doesn't seem to be enough. I can feel my body heat seeping away into the cold earth, feel the sharp tug of the cold biting at my exposed legs, feel my hands and feet become numb. My breath hangs in clouds around me.

Within an hour, I'm certain that it's so dangerously cold tonight that I'm not going to be comfortable enough to sleep. Quickly changing priorities in my head, I decide that it will be better to sleep during the warmer days, and keep myself moving at night, when I will be more difficult to spot and able to keep moving to stay warm.

However, for today that means keeping myself up all night. Still, it's better than the alternative of slowly freezing to death while staying awake anyway.

So, abandoning my plans for sleep, I set off across the arena again, trying to keep to the same trajectory I had been using before night fell. I consider using my flashlight, but the later that it gets into the night, I'm aware that other, more dangerous tributes like the Careers have had longer to catch up with me. So the flashlight stays in my pocket as I try to keep as low of a profile as possible.

Four or five hours later, and I'm starting to realise that my plan hasn't exactly worked. I'm still freezing, shivering to the bone as I traipse randomly through the woods, never able to see more than twenty metres ahead. For the past couple of hours I've been toying with the idea of making a fire, of settling myself somewhere secluded with some warmth, and it's starting to win me over. If anyone runs into me in my current state, I don't have a chance of defending myself. Even if I light myself up like a beacon with a fire, I'll have complete control of my body again, and I might be able to put up a fight. And anyway, I'm so far from the Cornucopia by now that the chances of anyone finding me must be next to none, surely...

My mind made up, I keep walking for a few more minutes until I find a patch of willow trees, their long, sweeping branches largely protecting me from view, hoping that they will keep me hidden. As exhausted as I am, I can still remember how to set and start a fire from survival training in the Capitol. Weak, numb and shaking as I am, it takes me longer than I would have liked, but I soon get a small fire going. It's energy and warmth seems to rejuvenate me immediately.

With little else left to do, I curl myself up beside it, grateful for its glow, using my backpack as a pillow. After one of the most stressful and tiring days of my life, it doesn't surprise me that I almost immediately drift off to sleep.

* * *

I'm woken with a lurch to the sudden pressure of someone pulling on the back of my collar, lifting me into the air. I hear raucous voices as I'm slammed backwards into a tree trunk, pinned there with both my feet off the ground by a powerful pair of hands.

It's the Careers. All of them.

"Please... Let me go..." I whimper instinctively to the boy from District 2, whose hands pin my shoulders to the tree.

Cato chuckles at me. "Let you go? Sure, if you can tell us exactly where we can find the girl from Twelve." I shake my head frantically from side to side, looking past Cato to his allies, who ring me menacingly. I see no sympathy in their faces, no weakness in their stance. _This is it..._

"I don't know where she is," I begin, speaking frantically. "But I can help you find her, I can-"

My voice cuts off as the spear goes through my stomach, gasping and screaming as I writhe in pain, crashing to the floor next to the dying embers of my fire as Cato's hands release me. I can hear cheering and laughter, but it feels faded, distant, compared to the pain spreading from my core, overriding my senses. Short of breath, my heart spiralling out of rhythm, I'm vaguely aware of the Careers' voices fading away into the distance, the sound of footsteps leaving my broken body behind, but before I can question it I'm already fading...

* * *

I rise from unconsciousness for just a few moments, coughing and hacking as the breeze blows the final embers from my fire into the sky around me. It's almost morning, the first glimpse of daylight showing through gaps in the canopy above.

Somewhere above me, the face of the boy from District 12 slides into my view.

I don't have the energy left in me to be surprised. I try to talk to him, to say anything, but I can barely raise my voice above a meaningless, mumbling whisper.

"Shh," he tells me, a finger on his lips. "It's all over now. You don't have to suffer anymore. It's going to be all right."

And with his knife, he guides me back to sleep.

* * *

 **A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review!** **:)**

 **I'll be back soon with another chapter :)**


	14. The New Us

**A/N: Thanks to melliemoo for reviewing the last chapter! :)**

 **This chapter has probably been the most fun for me to write so far in the story, so hopefully it's pretty decent :)**

* * *

 **"So many in the wrong, it's hard to see the goo** **d**

 **Rotting the well, poisoning the wood."**

 **\- Colin MacDonald, 2018.**

* * *

 **Chapter Fourteen**

 **Pixel Rose (15), District 3 Male**

 **11.00 am, Monday 20th July, Day 2 of the 74th Hunger Games**

 **The Trews - The New Us (2018)**

* * *

As sun rose over the arena this morning, it was clear that today was going to be just as hot and brutal as yesterday was.

Only today, I rose with twelve less tributes hunting for me than yesterday. Already half the field gone.

The twelfth cannon woke me just before sunrise, hidden deep in the chest-high grasses and plants that make up the northern section of the arena. I didn't know what was here, over the blind ridge north of the Cornucopia at the start of the Games, but noticing most of the tributes escaping from the Cornucopia heading to the woods, I decided to chance it. With this area of the arena basically being a large, open wheat field, the shoulder-high (chest-high for many, but I'm small) grasses largely covering me from sight.

I'm sure that the Gamemakers have all sorts of horrific traps, mutts and who knows what else hidden away in here, but I haven't run across anything malicious yet, and I'm not planning to stay here for long enough to find out.

Since being woken by the cannon at dawn - I'm hoping for it to have been the death of another Career, I was surprised to see the boy from Four didn't make it through the first day - I've been travelling back in the direction I came from, hoping to trace my steps backwards to the Cornucopia. I'm glad the sky is cloudless just as it was yesterday, as I'm using the sun to navigate my way back. Travelling through miles of similar fields, I made sure to cover my tracks, as crashing through the plants would give any pursuers a clear lead on my movements.

Since my training score of five was revealed after training finished in the Capitol, my mentor Beetee was keen to make me understand that there are skills you can possess that the Gamemakers can struggle to measure. How well you can read adaptive situations, how sharp your tactical game is, and how well you can use the arena around you to your advantage.

Beetee - who I've spoken to on occasion before the Games, through my position as one of our school's most gifted students, and one of very few to be moved forward an academic year - took me one evening while preparing for the interviews and gave me a chance to brainstorm strategies with him. In all the years he's been a mentor, in all the years that he's been helping tributes to survive the arena, I'd have thought he'd seen it all, but I surprised him with a strategy that even he hadn't considered before.

And he thinks that, just maybe, it might work.

If I'm as smart as he - and, on my vain days, _I_ \- think I am, then I might have a chance.

But to put my plan into action, I've got to find the Careers.

My best chance of finding them is to return to the Cornucopia, where the Games began and where the Careers' likely dominance will have left them in control of the lion's share of the supplies provided by the Gamemakers at the start of the Games. Given how much effort it is to move everything without it being a necessity, my money's on the Careers holding fast and setting up camp in the clearing around the Cornucopia.

I'm lucky, finding my way back to the Cornucopia not long after noon, stopping only once to eat a single tangerine; I don't dare break further into the meagre supplies my small bag contains. There's no guarantee of when I'll next to able to replenish my supplies.

When I reach the edge of the ridge by the clearing that holds the Cornucopia, I crouch down low, hoping to hide myself from the view of other tributes; there is less cover here than at the edge of the woods, so I slowly edge around into the shelter of the undergrowth of the woods, taking the time to survey the scene ahead of me. The golden horn of the Cornucopia stands proud in the centre of the clearing just as it did yesterday, glistening in the sun, surrounded by the twenty-four pedestals. There is no sign that there was any fighting here yesterday; all the bodies would have been removed by hovercraft yesterday afternoon, and the Careers have done a good job of cleaning up after themselves.

The only sign that anything has changed from yesterday is the small camp set by the Careers.

The Careers have set up their camp between the centre of the clearing and the lake, roughly two hundred yards from the Cornucopia. There are four tents gathered together - I remember seeing them at the centre of the supplies yesterday morning - along with the remnants of last night's fire. Nearby, crates of supplies lie stacked awkwardly together, having been dragged or carried the short distance from the Cornucopia. Even though they haven't travelled far, it's reassuring to see that the Careers really don't want to leave their most prized possessions - the supplies that sustain them - unattended.

Looking towards the camp, I can only see two tributes guarding it. One of them is the girl from District 4, armed with a sword, but the other is a tribute that I can't immediately place. He certainly isn't one of the Career Tributes that I was expecting to see. The fact that the Careers have taken on somebody else from outside their districts buoys me, but maybe that means that they won't want to take on anyone else?

I shake my head, trying to clear the doubts from my head. I can't afford to be second guessing anything now; I only have one option, so it's best not to make myself panic. Focusing once again on the camp, I realise that I can't tell if the other Careers are all asleep in the tents, or out hunting other tributes. Instinctively checking my back just to make sure they aren't camping out in the woods, waiting for a chance to strike at me, I realise I'm grateful these two tributes are going to be my first point of contact, and not someone more aggressive or intimating like Cato or Marvel. Once the Careers hear what I have to say, I'm sure they'll be willing to take me on. The important thing is making sure I get to be heard, and I probably have a better chance of that with Gabriella and her new friend than with anyone else.

I know exactly what I'm going to say - I've been planning this sales pitch all morning - I just need to make sure I'm not killed on the spot. I have a plan, I just have to hope it works. Knowing I probably won't get a better opportunity and that my nerves aren't going to get any better, I stand from the undergrowth and walk out into the clearing.

 _There's no time like the present..._

I walk slowly towards the Career camp, unarmed as I am, my hands held high in surrender, my chin held high to show my perceived confidence. As the two tributes approach me, I'm aware just how likely I am willingly walking to my death. But I also know that this is the game I have to play, if I want to get anywhere.

The two tributes reach me as I pass the Cornucopia, the position of the weapons in their hands relaxing me as I see that, for now, I am safe. Perhaps my surprise appearance has caught them off guard; my defenceless approach must have at least made them curious about my actions. I can now see that the other tribute is the boy from District 12, Peeta Mellark. He's armed with a sturdy knife, but he looks pretty beaten-up. Of all the tributes I could have guessed to ally with the Careers, I wouldn't have expected him. Does this mean that everything he said at the interviews was just a ruse? There is too much to question. Certainly there is another force at play here, one that I can't claim to understand.

Still, I have little option but to stick to my prepared gameplan.

"What's going on here?" Gabriella orders, looking at me warily. "You're not walking straight into the Career camp unarmed unless you're hiding something."

"I'm not hiding anything," I say, mustering up the most confident voice I can find. "I don't have a weapon. You can check my bag if you like." I throw my rucksack at her, handing over my only possessions in the arena. Not that I care about them now; in an hour I'll either have all of the supplies of the Career alliance at my disposal, or I'll be dead.

Gabriella catches the rucksack, ripping it open and rummaging through it. While she does, I try to continue talking. I don't want to run out of time.

"You know how at the start of the Games, all of the pedestals are mined, right?" I ask; Gabriella doesn't respond and Peeta nods, so I keep talking. "Well, I'm from District Three - you know, the technology district. I reckon I could dig them up and rewire them for your use."

"I'm not trying to be funny or anything, but who cares?" Gabriella says to me, discarding my rucksack - clearly there was nothing she wanted in it, her hands back on her sword. I notice Peeta studying her carefully, unsure what to do. He seems uncertain about acting without her.

"You'll care, when I tell you what you can do with them," I say as strongly as I can, desperate to hold her attention. "You can set them up around all of your supplies, rewired and ready to blow. Booby-trap the whole area around it, leaving a safe path through to the supplies that only you know. That way, nobody needs to stay at camp to guard the supplies." I'm hoping that I'm right in feeling that none of the Careers enjoy guard duty; hopefully that can win her over.

"You know, he's got a good idea here," Peeta says, finally speaking up. I'm grateful to have at least one of them on my side.

"So, let's say you can actually do this," Gabriella continues, frowning at me. "What good does this do for you? Why should we let you?"

"You'll let me do it because it benefits you," I tell her. "And isn't it obvious what I want? In return, I get to be a part of your alliance."

Gabriella breathes deeply, clearly thinking, but before she can, we all turn as we hear movement behind us at the Career camp. Clearly we weren't the only tributes here after all. We all watch as Clove comes out of one of the tents, running towards us, looking positively murderous. The expressions on the others' faces suggests that Clove has been left in charge, which intimidates me. I notice that as she approaches she opens up her jacket to reveal a row of menacing knives she's tied there with a belt, picking one and turning it over and over in her throwing hand.

"Clove, calm down," Gabriella says as she approaches, launching into a long explanation of what's going on as Peeta and I stand looking on awkwardly. I daren't look any of the other tributes in the eye, but I can tell from the conversation that Gabriella is actually winning Clove over. They might all be on my side.

"Why aren't we just killing him now?" Clove finally snaps at Gabriella, clearly frustrated by the whole procedure, and I'm worried that she wants to kill me just so she has one less thing to have to think about. I feel the need to speak up before the situation becomes too desperate.

"Look, it's a win-win situation for you," I say diplomatically. "This isn't exactly low risk for me; I'm offering to tamper with a _landmine_ here. If I make a mistake doing this for you, I'm dead and I've saved you all the trouble of killing me. If I get it right, I'm sure you can all see the benefits."

Clove doesn't respond, she just stares at me so intently that I feel like she's looking straight through me. The intensity of her stare sends shivers up my spine. The other Careers scare me, but she has a whole different level of intensity.

"Fine," she finally spits at me, clearly angry. "You can do it. But if you do one thing without clearly explaining what you're doing first, if you even look at any of us the wrong way or try anything smart behind our backs, then I'll knife you where you stand without asking any questions first. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," I say, trying a smile to hide the sheer panic welling up inside me. "Though I might need some supplies to help me do the job..."

My voice trails off as Clove rolls her eyes, sighing in exasperation, as her allies - _my_ allies, I guess - try to placate her.

"It's fine," Gabriella tells me. "Ignore her; she can be a little tetchy." _You can say that again..._

"What do you need?" Peeta asks me. Of all of them, he seems the most keen to help.

"Well, I'll definitely need a shovel," I begin. "And probably either scissors or a knife - anything I can cut wires with. Also maybe a screwdriver? Although I'm getting picky there, and I doubt you've even got one anyway."

"We'll see what we can get for you," Gabriella says, holding her sword intently as we walk back to the camp together. I'm sure I'm not the only one reading it as a challenge for Clove to behave. It turns out that it doesn't take long for Peeta to find both a knife and a pair of scissors for me, although the scissors seem large and cumbersome; they certainly aren't perfect for deactivating bombs, but they will have to do.

It's not until I'm being led back to the Cornucopia that the nerves finally start to sink in. This is the part that I was always the most confident about; the tech that will have been used to wire up these mines was almost certainly designed in District 3. But what if it isn't? What if I don't know what to do? What if I do know what to do, but I get clumsy and make a mistake?

Just as I told myself before walking out into the clearing to talk to Gabriella and Peeta earlier, I tell myself to not worry about the possibilities and just get on with the job, as I don't have any other options, but it's hard to manage that when I'm dicing with death.

Gabriella and Peeta both stop about fifty yards from the pedestal, but Clove follows me all the way to the pedestal. Even as I'm kneeling on the ground, marking where I believe I should be digging to reach the mines, I can feel her standing just over my shoulder.

"You do realise that if I do something wrong, you'll be blown up with me, don't you?" I challenge her. It's true, and honestly I don't want the pressure of her watching my every move. Clove doesn't answer, she just continues to glare at me, but I can't help smirking as she slowly walks backwards to where her allies stand.

With Clove out of my hair, there isn't anything else stopping me from starting my job; something that Beetee and I decided might be worth the risk, based on pure speculation. Gripping my shovel tightly with both hands, I know it's time to see if that speculation was right.

 _Time to get to work._

* * *

 **A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! :)**

 **In other news, after the conclusion of this story in a couple of weeks, I'm considering starting writing for _75 Games: After the Mockingjay_ once again, which has been run as a community project before. I'd recommend checking the story out, and seeing if it's something that you're interested in :)**

 **I'll be back with the next chapter, another notable scene from the books, tomorrow :)**


	15. Balaclava

**A/N: Thanks to melliemoo for reviewing the last chapter! :)**

 **This was one of my favourite scenes in the original Hunger Games books - the Careers and the tree. I like it so much I've already written it once from a different perspective - I told this scene from Peeta's point of view for this fic's parent story, _75 Games, 75 Victors, 75 Oneshots_ , almost five years ago. How time flies...**

 **Anyway, I hope that you all enjoy reading today's chapter :)**

* * *

 **"Oh, will blood run down the face of a boy bewildered and scorned**

 **And you'll find yourself in a skirmish where you wish you'd never been born."**

 **\- Alex Turner, 2007.**

* * *

 **Chapter Fifteen**

 **Gabriella Clarke (18), District 4 Female**

 **6.30 pm, Wednesday 22nd July, Day 4 of the 74th Hunger Games**

 **Arctic Monkeys - Balaclava (2007)**

* * *

I'm the first person to find her, hidden in the undergrowth by the side of a small pond, dozing or resting or otherwise tending to her wounds. She's on her feet almost as soon as I call back to my allies, turning back around to see her sprinting away into the trees, giving us little choice but to pursue her.

Ever since the fires this morning that forced us deeper into the woodlands away from the Cornucopia, we knew that the Gamemakers had led us to this area of the arena for a reason. We had anticipated finding another tribute nearby; it's been nearly three days since the last death, and we're sure the Capitol audience demand a little more drama from the Hunger Games than we've given them lately.

With the boy from Three now able to guard our newly-mined camp, we're back to hunting at full strength; Marvel and Glimmer, Cato and Clove, myself and Peeta, who fills the void Caspian left behind when he was killed in the bloodbath on the first day of the Games. I still don't know how to feel about his death, and so I've spent as much time as possible making sure I'm too busy to think about it at all.

Even during the trials in my district's Training Centre this spring, fighting against the other trainees under the watchful gaze of our trainers, there were simulated Gamemaker traps, forcing us to react to the environment around us. However much they wanted to simulate the Gamemakers' creations, there was no way that our mock arena beneath District 4's Training Centre was able to recreate these abhorrent, effective tools of destruction.

There is no way to prepare for looking into a wall of flames twenty feet high that bears down on you at a pace barely slower than you can run. There is nothing that can simulate the fear that we all felt in that boiling pot, the searing heat on the back of our necks and the sparks flying across our vision, covering our eyes from the light and our mouths from the smoke.

Even though it was clear that the Gamemakers weren't intending to kill us, instead hoping to drive us into other tributes to finally get some action, there was nothing that truly made me believe the flames wouldn't kill me if they reached me.

And anyway, the Gamemakers never mind injuring a couple of tributes, if only to heighten the drama. Thankfully, by the time we outran the danger, we were largely unharmed, save for the burning branch that crashed down into Marvel and Peeta; it was quickly thrown aside, but not before it managed to do some damage. However, all of us have thrown up at least twice this afternoon as we've tried to recover, our bodies desperate to expel the toxic fumes we all consumed in the fire.

And now, as the light fades on the fourth day of the Games, we've found the tribute the Gamemakers were drawing us towards. Katniss Everdeen, the high-scoring girl from District 12, favoured by the analytical minds of the Gamemakers and the sentimental hearts of the Capitol public. The one tribute that, more than any other, is a threat to all of us.

However, as she runs away from us through the trees, barely more than five feet tall, dressed in scorched, frayed clothes with a small backpack and no obvious weapon, I wonder what she possibly could have done to convince the Gamemakers of her ability. All I see is a scared little girl, no different to the other tributes we've been hunting since arriving in the arena.

I lead the way alongside Cato as Marvel and Glimmer follow close behind us, with Peeta and Clove bringing up the rear. Despite the difficult, uneven terrain, we're slowly closing the gap to the girl. Perhaps it is a sense of inevitability that forces her to change her mind, but we've halved the distance to her when she opts for a change of tactic, scurrying up a large tree with the grace of a practiced climber. By the time we regroup at the base of the tree, Katniss is already sat straddling a branch five or six metres above us. She's stuck, but forcing her out of the tree could be difficult.

While we all remain silent, surveying the scenario we're left with, Katniss speaks out to us, showing far more courage than I think I'd manage to show if I was in her position.

"How's everything with you?" she calls down with a smile. As if she's somehow amused by being stuck, daring us to make a go of bringing her back down to us.

"Well enough," Cato replies, looking up at her as he attempts to mimic her cheery, daring tone. "Yourself?"

"It's been a bit warm for my taste," Katniss replies. I think she understands what I'm beginning to suspect; that getting her out of that tree is going to prove to be a lot tougher than expected. "The air's better up here. Why don't you come on up?"

"I think I will," Cato says confidently. If I've learnt anything about him in the last week, it's that his pride is his downfall. It can be seen in his refusal to use any name other than his family name, the one that ties him to past successes, and in his complete refusal to turn down a challenge.

"Here, take this, Cato," Glimmer says eagerly, offering her bow and arrows to Cato as he strides purposefully towards the base of the tree. I glance sideways at Clove, who shrugs back. She knows as well as I do what Glimmer is trying to do, and neither of us are going to let her get away with it.

"No," Cato replies, pushing the weapon away; beside me, I see Clove smirk, her arms crossed. "I'll do better with my sword." Without saying another word, Cato pulls himself into the tree and begins to climb after Katniss.

Watching from the ground, it's almost immediately clear that Cato won't be able to get to her. Katniss is far lighter and far faster of a climber than he is; not only is she climbing faster than Cato, constantly increasing her separation, but she's soon onto branches that I doubt would take Cato's weight, if he ever got that high.

However, I don't get to find out whether the higher branches can take Cato's weight or not, as he soon finds himself grasping a weak, brittle branch that gives way beneath his hand, snapping under Cato's weight, sending the boy from District 2 crashing back to the ground. He lands roughly on his back, cursing wildly as he finds his way back to his feet.

"Someone smaller needs to go up after her," Clove says bluntly once Cato has recovered.

"Glimmer should go up," I suggest. Although Clove is shorter than Glimmer, the girl from District 1 is the most lithe and slender of us, the best suited to climbing.

"Yes," agrees Marvel, gesturing towards the tree in his district partner's direction. "She'll be able to climb higher than Cato did due to her size, and maybe then she'll get a clear shot with her bow."

Glimmer tackles the tree far more effectively than Cato did, comfortably passing the place where Cato fell, carrying on upwards until she's over ten metres in the air, although by now Katniss' height is getting closer to thirty. As good of a climber as Glimmer is, I can see that while she is competent, Katniss is excellent. If Glimmer's going to get her down, it'll be through her arrows.

When Glimmer finally reaches the limit of her confidence, she settles herself in the crook of two branches, craning to look upwards into the low sun towards the silhouetted figure of Katniss, still at least fifteen metres higher up in the tree than Glimmer.

If I was being kind, I'd say that the glare of the sun does a lot to put Glimmer off, but to tell the truth, she's an awful archer. Her first three shots fly so wide that Katniss doesn't even flinch, and the fourth gets tangled in the branches not too far from her. We all watch as Katniss dances through the branches to retrieve Glimmer's fourth arrow, waving it over her head mockingly as she looks down at us.

"We need to try a different tactic," Cato says frustratedly as Glimmer finally returns to us after climbing carefully back down the tree, albeit with far more grace than Cato managed.

"Well, what other weapons do we have?" Peeta asks, and I turn to look at him warily. I am aware that this is the first time he has spoken since we arrived beneath the tree. Considering that he earned his place in our alliance because of his importance should this scenario have occurred, his silence so far has been concerning.

I get the impression that, once this is dealt with and Katniss is dead, Peeta will definitely be in for a questioning.

"Both Cato and I have spears," Marvel says helpfully, answering Peeta.

"They won't work," I reply. "They'll get stuck in the branches." There's no chance we'll be able to throw spears through such dense trees, and we don't want to risk them coming straight back down at us.

"Plus it'll be dangerous to throw almost vertically upwards," Clove adds, mirroring my thoughts. The more time I spend around the girl from District 2, the more I sense that I have an unspoken understanding with her that I struggle to replicate with the other Careers. "They could injure us if they come back down. I'll have the same issue with my knives."

"I only have a knife, so I guess that'll be of no use," Peeta confirms, and both Cato and Glimmer nod.

"Well, somebody needs to put some pressure on her," Cato snaps. "We can't just leave her up there forever - who knows what Three's up to back at camp by himself?"

"Clove will have to go then," Marvel suggests. "She's the smallest."

"Yeah, and what am I going to do when I get up there?" Clove retorts, squaring up to Marvel as Cato tries to get between them.

"Guys, calm down..."

I try to drone out my allies' bickering, thinking back to the years and years of advice given by the former victors who trained me. Julian, Harrow, Georgie, Auriel, my mentor Ludo. We did practice this sort of scenario; never with a tribute hidden up a tree, but with various other circumstances where there's only one route for a cornered tribute to escape. Never let your guard down, watch for any other methods for the tribute to escape, and try to pressure them into coming to us. Honestly there's little we can do to pressure Katniss now that she's so high in the trees, as we can't reach her and it's unlikely we'll be able to bring the tree down without some serious effort. The more I think about it, there's only one real option I can see, although I'm loath to suggest it; it means leaving the supplies overnight...

"Oh, let her stay up there," Peeta says firmly, cutting off my allies' bickering. "It's not like she's going anywhere. We'll deal with her in the morning." He doesn't explicitly mention it, but it's clear that Peeta has reached the same conclusion as me while Marvel and Clove have been getting at each other. We're going to have to starve her out.

"Very well," Cato says firmly, frowning in thought. Clearly he hadn't considered this situation before. "We'll set up camp. Firstly, we need someone to permanently guard her - Marvel, you're up first." Marvel groans, but he doesn't dare to challenge Cato. Over the past four days, he has learnt his place in our alliance.

"Lover Boy," Cato continues, turning on Peeta. "We'll need a fire for the camp. Fetch us some firewood."

"I'll go and help," Glimmer says eagerly as Peeta walks away. Cato shrugs, which she takes as permission.

"Do you think there's any point in using a fire to try to burn her tree down?" Clove asks Cato.

"I doubt it," I reply, sitting down at the base of Katniss' tree, polishing the blade of my sword on the lining of my shirt. "Look how thick the tree trunk is, and how many dry twigs and leaves there are about. We're more likely to cause damage to ourselves than her. And after this morning, I'd rather not have to outrun another forest fire."

"Point noted," Clove admits, settling herself down beside me. I feel as though, compared to the other Careers, Clove and I are reaching a sense of camaraderie that the others have yet to reach. Potentially, when the numbers have been cut enough and our alliance begins to fall apart, we might be able to carry on as a pair.

If we both survive that long.

Cato paces around in front of us, gripping his sword tightly while Marvel stands guard with his spears. Night begins to fall, the Capitol seal comes and goes in the sky; despite the Gamemakers' best efforts, there were no deaths today, the pool of tributes remaining at twelve. Peeta and Glimmer return with firewood, and we all sit around our small fire in silence. There is nothing to do to pass the time, and I don't feel like making small talk with the others. I don't want to find out more about their lives, hear their personal stories. That will just make them harder to kill in the future, and I know that they'll have to die before I take the victory I've spent the better part of a decade training for.

In the dark of the night, we sit quietly close to the fire, sheltering from the cold. We sip water from our flasks, conserve the small amount of food we brought with us away from camp. We agree that watch should be divided into three shifts for the night. First Marvel, then me, and then finally Glimmer. Cato's asleep barely an hour into Marvel's watch, but everyone else is still awake into my watch. It's hard work keeping an eye out in every direction, even with night-vision glasses giving me excellent vision. Thankfully, the forest is quiet at night, and the only disturbance I see is a fox stalking through the trees a hundred yards from us. It quickly notices the figures arranged around the fire and flees from us.

By the time my watch is over, only Glimmer is still awake; for whatever reason, she hasn't been able to sleep yet tonight. In order to complete her turn guarding our camp, she's going to have to stay up for the entire night. I hope can manage it, for our sakes.

I hand her the pair of night-vision glasses and curl up beside the fire, not far from the base of Katniss' tree. Exhaustion hits me at once and I barely have a chance to think about anything before falling asleep.

* * *

I'm awoken suddenly by a crash and a frantic buzzing sound, shouts erupting around me as my allies scramble to their feet. Somehow, tired and groggy as I am after just a few hours of sleep, I have the wherewithal to do the same.

Rubbing my eyes, I find myself standing into a cloud of golden specks, swirling furiously. It doesn't take me long to realise what has happened, as the first sharp pains dig into my arms.

She's dropped a wasp's nest on us.

"To the lake!" I hear Clove cry as she runs, swatting the insects away, Marvel and Peeta hot on her heels. I cry in pain as one of the wasps stings the back of my neck, far stronger than any sting I've ever experienced before. Cato barges past me, following our allies as the swarm threatens to overwhelm us. Behind me I vaguely hear Glimmer crash to the floor, unable to keep up our pace, but as the others rush away I begin to feel disoriented.

Stumbling, staggering forwards, I struggle to keep going as the pain builds. I cry out for help, but I doubt there is anyone to help me as the pain overwhelms me and I collapse, unable to think clearly. I try to think of a way out, a way to keep going, but I can't; I can't.

 _Please, please, just make it stop..._

* * *

 **A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! It's certainly one I had a lot of fun writing :)**


	16. Clocks

**A/N: Thanks to ariel786 for reviewing the last chapter! :)**

* * *

 **"Lights go out and I can't be saved**

 **Tides that I tried to swim against**

 **Have brought me down upon my knees**

 **Oh I beg, I beg and I plead."**

 **\- Chris Martin, 2002.**

* * *

 **Chapter Sixteen**

 **Angus Blacke (18), District 10 Male**

 **5.00 pm, Saturday 25th July, Day 7 of the 74th Hunger Games**

 **Coldplay - Clocks (2002)**

* * *

It isn't long after the sun sets across the arena that the Capitol seal is in the sky. It never is. As ever, we await updates on whose deaths we are still waiting for.

There have been no cannons today. There haven't been since the two Careers, the girls from One and Four, were killed on the morning of the fifth day. I'm beginning to sense the Gamemakers becoming restless again, just as they did with the fires before the Careers' deaths.

Of the ten tributes left in the arena, there are three 'proper' Careers, plus the boy from Twelve who chose to ally with them on the first day. I can only presume he's still with them, as his face hasn't appeared in the sky yet and I doubt he'd manage to get away from the others without going down in the fight. Away from the Career Tributes, there are still the threats of Katniss and Thresh, who scored as highly in training as anyone in the Career alliance. I've seen neither hide nor hair of either of them since the gong rang at the beginning of the Games. I can only assume they are operating alone, keeping a low profile.

In fact, the only time I've seen another tribute since the first day was two afternoons ago, when the girl from Five ran past the base of a tree I was hiding in. I was well enough hidden that I don't think she was ever aware of where I was. If she had known, I might have had a fight on my hands; I think she's surprisingly skilled.

In any other year, in any other month, I might have made a real go of these Games, I might have stood a chance of winning. As it is, I'm the tribute who scored the lowest in training, one of the few weaklings left before the real fun begins as the numbers become extremely low. A touch under six foot tall, athletic by nature from years helping to tame livestock at home in District 10, I'm the model of what many victors aim to be. A bit of luck through interviews and an impressive training performance could have convinced anyone that I'm a major threat in the arena this year.

However, a month ago, it all fell apart.

Every summer in District 10, a group of us are chosen to go beyond the fence that lines the edge of our district, to open plains where wild horses roam. It is traditional for those of us who care for our district's horses to tame a few of these wild horses each summer, to add to the genepool we've collected in our district's controlled livestock. For the past three summers, with my career path already chosen, I've been invited on these trips.

Taming wild horses is never an easy job - in fact, there are some horses that can never be trained no matter how much time and effort you put in - although I've managed to tame others in previous years. However, this year I allowed myself to become complacent, and I paid the price for it. One of the horses, a young male, lashed out at us, kicking me to the floor. Thankfully its kick only half connected, but I landed horrifically, jarring my knee on landing.

I had to be carried back to the district by the others. It didn't take long before I was told I'd broken my kneecap and damaged the ligaments behind it.

The moment I hear my name called at the reaping, I knew that I was in a lot of trouble. I needed crutches to walk up onto the stage.

I'm amazed I didn't receive the first score of one in the history of the Hunger Games. Talented as I am, as deadly as I could have been, I can barely walk. I've been using fallen branches as makeshift crutches since the Games began, travelling just a few hundred yards each day in short stints, using my excellent upper body strength to haul myself into trees each night, remaining hidden within the leaves, out of my enemies' sight.

I ran away from the Cornucopia on the first day - well, _ran_ might not be an accurate term - without getting any supplies. Knowing my weaknesses from the moment we first met on the train, my mentor Fernando has been keen to direct me through survival stations, accepting just as I did that I always knew I wouldn't stand a chance in fighting for supplies on the first day.

Overall, I've done well since then, although I'm yet to be tested by either the other tributes or the Gamemakers. Still, I'm surviving. Sure, I don't have anything to help me through the cold nights - I don't have any choice but to grit my teeth and somehow get through them - but I've been able to feed myself on what I've scavenged in the woods, and I found a pair of sharp rocks I used to craft a fallen branch into a crude, pointed spear.

Still, as much as I fancy my chances in a close fight against nearly all of the other tributes with my spear. Nobody needs to come into my range, as I'm almost completely immobile. I daren't throw my one weapon out of a tree at anyone, anyway. I have no chance of retrieving it if I miss, leaving me unarmed for the remainder of a fight. Even if I do manage to deal a non-fatal blow with a spear, I'm then sat at their mercy, waiting for them to approach my tree and come to finish me off.

Still, I've yet to run into any issues, which has given me some confidence. Large parts of my gameplan rely on the other tributes taking each other out, leaving me with less to kill at the end of the Games, and preferably no surviving alliances; in a one on one fight, I may have a slight chance, but there is no way I'll win against a group of tributes like the Careers.

As confident as I've been in my strategy so far, I'm starting to sense that the Gamemakers will soon tire of my passive act, and force me into situations I don't want to be in. That, or just kill me off entirely for being too boring. It's rare that the Gamemakers kill tributes outright, but not unheard of, and I can't deny that I'm not worried about it.

Still, in the shape I'm in, I don't really have any other options.

As the darkness falls over the arena, I can see that the sky is still clear. _Great_. Another cold night. Preparing for the worst, I shuffle up to the trunk of the tree I'm in, cushioned by the two branches I'm resting by. I withdraw as much as I can into my jacket and pull the hood tightly over my head. I've had enough nights like this now that it doesn't take me long before I'm drifting off...

* * *

"Look! Another tribute!"

Loud, excited voices wake me. Adrenalin rushes through me, making me constantly alert. The voices are somewhere to my right, but I daren't move in case my movement is easy to spot. I am so tense that I barely remember to breathe.

"I still can't see anyone, Cato." This voice is female, and instantly more recognisable. It belongs to Clove, the girl from District 2.

So the Careers have found me.

I try to think of something I can do to evade the situation, to make the Careers leave me alone, but I can't. I just have to hope that they either give up on me or don't have a logical way of forcing me down.

"I can," I recognise the third voice as Marvel's. "Two trees away, up there... Look where I'm pointing!"

"Oh... _Oh!_ Yes, I'm with you now..."

"They're probably sleeping, let's keep this at least a bit quiet, shall we?" I can hear Sextus Cato's voice, filled with more authority than the others.

"What does it matter? They're not going anywhere, are they?"

"Don't you remember what happened last time we said that?" Cato says in exasperation. "We lost three of our group. I'm still amazed we haven't heard District Twelve's cannon fire yet."

From the way that the Careers are talking, their alliance is now down to just three tributes. Still, that's three more Careers than I'd like to be facing now.

"So how are we doing this?" I hear Marvel ask. "I'd rather not have a repeat of last time - the stings from those wasps absolutely _killed_..."

"Look, it's not going to come to that," Clove replies. "There's no chance this guy's as good of a climber as she was, and he's much lower, too. This is just going to be easy target practice."

Having not seen the Careers up close since the start of the Games, I don't know what weapons they have, but I know it's best to move now, to look to see what I'm up against.

"Look, he's awake!"

No sooner have I turned towards the Careers do I have two spears thrown at me, Cato and Marvel already reaching for their second. One shoots way wide and I duck the other, but in doing so my grip slips on my spear, and I look on helplessly as it crashes to the ground beneath me.

However, before I can worry about the loss of my spear, Clove has begun advancing towards me, throwing knives as she presses, a menacing look of furious determination on her face. Her first two knives miss me completely and I duck the third, but the fourth slices through my left forearm and the fifth sinks into my shoulder, its momentum knocking me backwards off my branch.

I land with a thud on my back, the impact knocking the breath out of me as the first waves of pain begin to sink in from my shoulder, from my arm, from the rough landing tearing through anything my knee had managed to do to heal itself. Wheezing and out of breath, I know I'm powerless as I hear the Careers cheering as they advance on me, fully aware that I'll never get to my feet again.

 _Please let this be quick..._

* * *

 **A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! As ever, constructive criticism is welcomed :)**

 **Every chapter from now on features a named character (in order of district but not appearance, the tributes left to be featured in this fic are Marvel, Cato, Clove, Foxface, Thresh, Rue, Peeta and Katniss), so I'll be back with the perspective of a familiar face soon :)**


	17. Gunman

**A/N: Thanks to codedriver and melliemoo for reviewing the last chapter! The support is appreciated :) I've made some amendments to the previous chapter - only superficially - after reading some of the comments :)**

 **It's been a busy weekend for me, but now I'm back with another chapter featuring a familiar face, if not name. I hope that you all enjoy reading it :)**

* * *

 **"You're so clever you'll tear us apart**

 **Then masquerade it as art."**

 **\- Josh Homme, 2009.**

* * *

 **Chapter Seventeen**

 **Ashleen Finch (17), District 5 Female**

 **4.30 pm, Sunday 26th July, Day 8 of the 74th Hunger Games**

 **Them Crooked Vultures - Gunman (2009)**

* * *

With just a few hours before sunset, I'm beginning to wonder if the Careers will ever clear out from their camp today. It's been two days since I was last here, and I'm in desperate need of a refill.

Like any other tribute from the outer districts who has managed to survive this deep into the Hunger Games - we're now way over a week in - I've managed it by being resourceful. Every year on the television screens, you can see the same faces; the scared, the bewildered, the confused, those void of hope. Every year, at least a third of the tributes show these traits; traits that leave them almost no chance of winning the Games and returning to their families alive.

Surely it is a natural consequence of an upbringing in Panem that we are taught to respect the Hunger Games? As easy as it can be to pretend the Games don't exist, to bury your head in the sand and pretend that your name isn't in that reaping bowl every summer, that simply isn't how it works. Sure, the arena terrifies me as much as any other girl in my year at school, and certainly as much as it terrifies my younger sister Brianna, but I know as well as anyone that having a contingency plan in place never hurt anybody.

The chances of being reaped are so low, but the Games are so merciless if your name is drawn that you're best to be prepared for all eventualities. From the moment I was walking up to the stage in the square at the reaping, I had my game face on. Years of theories and plans coming into practice almost instinctively.

Capitol laws forbid us from training for the Games, from practicing with any forms of weapon - well, those of us who aren't in Career districts, anyway. And the penalties are harsh enough that nobody attempts to train, either. However, as much as the Peacekeepers may prevent us from preparing our bodies for the Games, they can't stop us from preparing our minds. Just in the same way that they can tell us what to do, but they can't tell us how to think.

One of the first things I picked up when I was younger was to watch each Hunger Games closely, looking for any different or inventive strategy, committing them to memory in case, one day, I'd ever find myself in the same situation in the arena.

And here I am now, the female tribute for District 5 in the 74th Annual Hunger Games. Overshadowed at the parade, outscored in training, passing unnoticed through the interviews, yet with everything going exactly to plan.

I was never going to win the Games through popularity. Sure, I'm not ugly, but I'm far from the prettiest girl in the field, and I haven't got a gift with words the way others, such as Peeta from twelve, have. I'm not the physical specimen Cato claims to be, and I'm not the ruthless, calculating killer that Clove has shown me in the time I've watched her in the arena. What I bring to the table is something far less tangible.

If I'm going to win the Games this year, I'm going to win it much in the same fashion that my mentor Yvonne won her Games just before I was born. Using a combination of tactics to keep herself alive as a hidden threat, and arriving to the final fight in better shape than all of her allies, who might otherwise have had the upper hand on her.

I don't know whether I'll be skilled enough to survive or even whether I have the guts to kill once I'm forced to that point, but for now my strategies have been working well. I'm not the fastest, but I managed to run most of the way to the Cornucopia to pick up a backpack and a knife, turn around and get most of the way back towards my pedestal before the Careers - who had run the whole distance to the Cornucopia - were spreading out with weapons, looking for a fight. I was into the trees long before anyone was trying to look for me, putting a lot of distance between myself and the biggest threats. From then, there was no chance that one of the eleven cannons I heard on the first day was going to be mine.

By the second day, it was clear that the arena's landscape - so very different to the dry, desert-like terrain of District 5 - would be difficult for me to live off. Despite how much I had memorised from the edible plants stations in training and how well I'd done in all of the memory tests, I'm still apprehensive to trust my knowledge until I desperately need to. When one poisoned berry could end it all, why should I risk it? With my stores of food running low despite careful rationing, I became drawn to the only known place with large amounts of safe, Gamemaker-provided food and water.

So, despite my early efforts to distance myself from the menacing pack of Career Tributes, by the end of the second day I was hiding in the undergrowth at the edge of the clearing that held the Cornucopia, looking on as the Careers put the finishing touches on their latest masterpiece. With the help of the boy from District 3 - how he managed to convince them, I don't know - the Careers have relocated all of their supplies to a delicate pyramid a hundred yards from their camp, surrounded by re-armed landmines that had been under our pedestals at the start of the Games.

It took me a couple of days of watching the Careers negotiate the minefield to learn the safe route to their supplies, but since then I've been helping myself whenever the camp has been empty. I've been careful to only take small amounts of food from each of their stocks of supplies, and even then only from places where the supplies are hard to count. It's easy to take two apples from a bag without them knowing that any are missing, but taking one egg from an eggbox makes it obvious someone has managed to get their hands on the Careers' supplies. Once they know - or even suspect - that I'm stealing from them, they'll start to up their guard, and I'll probably be forced to leave this seemingly endless stash of food behind me.

For the past few nights, I've been returning to the same place every night; a concealed hollow surrounded by thick bushes, hidden within a dense cluster of trees. On the off chance that another tribute comes stumbling past me, it's unlikely that I'll be seen. I've considered climbing into trees to sleep at night as I'm sure I could manage it if I tried, but I'd be scared of falling out of the tree in my sleep, and quite honestly I don't think it's worth the risk. I'm leaving enough to chance as it is.

Usually the Careers have left to hunt as a group, leaving the boy from Three on guard alone at the camp, although they've been more reluctant to leave since the deaths of Glimmer and Gabriella three days ago. I don't know what happened to them, but the other Careers have clearly been roughed up by it, with swollen lumps covering their bodies. I wasn't here to see their return, but I've seen their slow recovery in the days afterwards.

Before Glimmer and Gabriella died, it was easy to lure the boy from Three away from the camp - he really is hopeless - allowing me to run in to take their supplies while he was out searching for me in the woods. I'm sure he's never admitted to the others that he's been hearing noises in the forests and leaving the supplies unattended, as I can imagine that would do his limited standing in the alliance no good.

However in recent days the Careers have been leaving the camp less and less, and so I chose to make the journey here today in hope rather than certainty that I would get a chance to pick up more supplies. Currently I have around two days' worth of food and water left, so I'm just hoping for an opportunistic piece of luck.

After spending nearly all afternoon watching the four surviving tributes in the alliance - Marvel, Sextus Cato, Clove, the boy from Three - sit lazily around their camp, I finally get the fortunate break I've been hoping for. From deep within the woods on the opposite side of the clearing, thick smoke is pouring out into the sky.

Cato spots the smoke almost immediately, pointing and shouting, suddenly roused into action. I'm sure that the Careers are as aware as I am that the smoke is most likely a trap of some sort, but I guess that, being Careers, they feel they can outsmart whoever's set this plan into action. They're certainly not the type to back away from a challenge. Even if I was prepared for the Careers' approach, there is no way I'd feel confident in flagging my whereabouts to them in any form.

Clearly some other plan is in motion, but I won't let it get in the way of mine.

There is little I can do but wait patiently, knowing that my time will come, while the Careers argue by their camp, loudly enough that their voices carry clearly to my position. It appears that Cato and Marvel can't agree whether the boy from Three should stay and guard the camp - not that it matters to me much, either way. He's such a poor guard he barely complicates things at all.

"He's coming," Cato says with a finality that forces Marvel to concede. "We need him in the woods, and his job's done here anyway. Nobody can touch those supplies."

I try not to laugh at the irony of his words.

"What about Lover Boy?" Marvel counters, asking about Peeta from District 12, who used to be a part of the Career alliance before the deaths of Glimmer and Gabriella. I haven't seen him since. As I haven't heard his cannon yet, it's safe to say he managed to make a run for it, breaking away from the pack.

"I keep telling you, forget about him," Cato replies, reaching for his weapons, a move that Marvel mimics. "I know where I cut him. It's a miracle he hasn't bled to death yet. At any rate, he's in no shape to raid us."

Clove says something quietly to Cato that causes him to frown.

"Come on," Cato says forcefully, thrusting a spear towards the boy from Three and stalking into the woods, leaving his allies to follow behind. I wait patiently, giving myself enough time to be certain that the Careers haven't had second thoughts about hunting whoever caused the smoke. Eventually, after roughly half an hour, I'm satisfied that I'm in the clear, and I break from the treeline, making a run for the supplies.

In the heat of the day, I'm hot and flustered just from the short sprint, the heavy sun beating down on me ferociously. I pause twenty yards from the pyramid of supplies as I reach the edge of the minefield, looking for the entrance to the one safe route through. I've seen the boy from Three make this trip more times than I can count. Starting where he always begins between a drum of oil and an empty wooden chest, I follow the path the Careers designed earlier in the Games. If you look very closely at the patterns of the dirt on the ground, it is possible to see where the mines have been buried, and where slightly larger gaps have been left than in other places.

Still, I can imagine it being incredibly easy to accidentally trigger one of the mines, for someone to lose their legs before they knew what had happened. I'm grateful the Careers have put up a safety net above the supplies, so that the whole thing couldn't be set off by something dropped from a bird, or by a malicious tribute throwing stones into the mix. The last thing I need right now is the fear of something else triggering the mines while I'm here surrounded by them.

Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I begin along the memorised path, treading lightly and carefully. It's a good thing I'm light on my feet; I don't want accidental vibrations to blow the thing sky-high. Some of it is a careful walk, other parts are more athletic; hurdling crates, jumping from box to box, striding over longer gaps.

About halfway to the supplies, I jump from one barrel to another but my leading foot slips, pushing me forwards away from the barrel. Panic rushes through me as I cry out in shock, already flinching as my arms stretch ahead of me.

But when I land hard on my hands, pain sparking in my wrists, there are no explosions. Somehow, miraculously, I've managed to miss everything.

 _Oh, that was close..._

Breathing deeply as the unpleasant rush of fear and adrenalin courses through me, I return to my feet, shaken but not disheartened. Somehow, I've got away with it.

I keep going without another hitch until I reach the Careers' supplies, using my usual strategy to take small amounts of each resource to avoid suspicion. Packing my bag evenly but not too full - after my lucky reprieve a moment ago, I daren't make my backpack too heavy for fear of upsetting my balance - I'm quickly on my way back towards the treeline, heading off without any signs of being detected.

After my lucky break, I'm feeling more reluctant to return to the Careers' supplies again; I've gambled enough in surviving off of it for a week already. Perhaps now is the time to move further afield, to put some space between myself and the surviving Careers...

It's only when I reach my usual hiding spot at the edge of the clearing that my mind drifts back to the smoke I saw earlier. Looking back over the trees, I can see that the fire that caused it is clearly still burning. This was no accident; this is surely a ploy to get the better of the Careers, a plan to force them away from the Cornucopia.

Sensing that something is about to happen, I settle back down into my usual hiding spot, watching the clearing intently for signs of life.

I don't have to wait long before I see her. Katniss, the girl from District 12, armed with a gleaming silver bow. I haven't seen her since the first day of the Games, but she seems to be holding up fairly well. She appears even more of a threat now than she did when an eleven was shown next to her name after training. I'm sure the Capitol audience have been treated to a highlight reel of her skills already.

Katniss walks purposefully towards the Careers' pile of supplies, craning to get a closer look at them, and I'm certain that she has something to do with the smoke, which is now almost certainly bait for the Careers, getting them away from the Cornucopia for Katniss to act out whatever her plan may be. Given the distance from her to the smoke, there's no chance she's come all the way from there since the fire began, especially because that would mean meeting the Careers halfway. No, the girl from Twelve certainly has an accomplice in this. Aside from Katniss, myself and the Careers, there are only three other tributes still alive; Peeta and the pair from District 11. If Cato's word can be trusted, Peeta's not likely to be in any state to help her, and yet I can't see Katniss allying with either of the tributes from Eleven, especially not Thresh, who's almost as dangerous as she is. So who knows who she's making plans with?

I watch intently as Katniss looks carefully at the supplies, clearly deep in thought, before she loads an arrow onto her bowstring, aiming for the supplies.

From the moment the first arrow tears a small hole in the side of a burlap bag I stole some apples from earlier, I know what she's planning to do. Not knowing quite how lethal the mines are, there's no option but for me to turn and run.

Somehow, as I sprint away from the Cornucopia making no attempt to be stealthy or check my speed for any obstacles, the only thought that can enter my mind is that the shock wave from the explosion is going to be faster than sound.

It turns out I'm right, as the blast catches me unaware as I run down the gentle slope away from the Cornucopia, lifting me from my feet as branches fly from the trees around me. I must travel twenty feet in the air, and unable to catch the landing I crumble to the floor, rolling over and over until I crash into the base of a tree. Pain shoots through my ribs, but all I have the wherewithal to do is get my hands to my ears.

It doesn't help much when the deafening crack of the explosion follows, and in its aftermath another thought enters my mind, as explosive and game-changing as anything I've witnessed today.

The Careers' supplies are gone.

We're all on the same level now.

* * *

 **A/N: This chapter ended up being a lot longer than planned... Still, if you enjoyed it, please review! As ever, constructive criticism is welcomed :)**

 **I'm hoping that the next chapter will be posted much more quickly than this one was :)**


	18. Gold

**A/N: These chapters seem to be getting longer and longer... With all of the characters coming up, I feel like there's so much I want to say, and so little time to say it in!**

 **I think I drifted pretty far from the lyrics for this one again, but there's so much I'm trying to include that it's inevitable sometimes.**

 **Still, I hope you enjoy today's chapter :)**

* * *

 **"First comes the blessing of all that you've dreamed**

 **But then comes the curses of diamonds and rings**

 **Only at first did it have its appeal**

 **But now you can't tell the false from the real."**

 **\- Dan Reynolds, 2015.**

* * *

 **Chapter Eighteen**

 **Marvel Turner (18), District 1 Male**

 **5.15 pm, Sunday 26th July, Day 8 of the 74th Hunger Games**

 **Imagine Dragons - Gold (2015)**

* * *

We're half way between the first and second pillars of smoke - clearly now some sort of elaborate trap designed to grab our attention - when we're met by the explosion. A thunderous burst of energy rumbling over our heads, a strong breeze carrying all the way to us, branches rustling above us.

The noise rumbles overhead, reverberating as smaller bursts continue to fire, upsetting the birds in the trees around us.

We all know there's only one thing in the arena that could make that noise.

Cato curses, and instinctively we all take a step away; even Clove, who often appears to be fearless. Pixel from District 3 looks positively terrified.

"Back to camp!" Cato shouts, setting off at a run through the trees, something we all mimic. _If this is as we feared..._

Clearly there has been a plan to lead us away from the Cornucopia; we had all imagined as much. Being more heavily armed than anyone else in the arena and willing to face the odds as a group, we'd decided to hunt down whoever was foolish enough to broadcast their location to us. Now it's apparent that they've managed to run rings around us and made their way to our supplies; or else, another tribute has decided to have a go at stealing something for themselves while we're all away from the camp. _I knew we should have left Pixel behind..._

The worry is that we really don't know what we're going to return to when we reach our camp. As much as Pixel clearly knew what he was doing in setting up our elaborate trap, he only had a rough guess at the strength of the landmines he reactivated. What if there's nothing left when we get back?

It takes us almost ten minutes to run back to camp; by the time we return, three of us are just beginning to feel the burn, but Pixel is exhausted, his face flushed and his breathing ragged. Cato, who has run ahead of the rest of us, reaches the clearing first, and I can hear his anguished cries before I get a chance to see for myself.

I prepare myself for the worst, and I'm not disappointed.

There is nothing left.

I feel my strength leave me as I stand at the edge of the clearing, looking over at the remnants of our camp. Clearly the mines did their job, and then some. Only the mangled remains of our tents indicate that there was any occupation here to begin with. The blue outer layer from one tent has been blasted all the way to the lake. Only a small charred patch on the ground shows where our small firepit was. I'm glad we weren't here at the time; there would have been all number of deadly projectiles in the air.

Looking away from the camp, I can only see the scorched ground where our supplies once sat. There are a few scraps of metal, one or two heavily dented boxes that would probably look in better shape after being dropped from a hovercraft. Everything else was either instantly vaporised, flung sky high or otherwise thrown into the lake.

 _What are we supposed to do now?_

As I start to follow Cato again, numbly walking in his direction as he pulls his hair and screams in frustration, I can only imagine what my trainers and mentors must be thinking in the Capitol and at home in District 1. This is something the Careers simply don't do. Sure, sometimes the Careers don't manage their supplies well, but that's nearly always because of Gamemaker intervention, to spice up the Games. They used mutts to cut last year's alliance from their supplies, so I had never imagined losing them again.

What almost never happens is the Career alliance being careless enough to let other tributes destroy their supplies. Right now, we are the laughing stock of Panem. Anger begins to boil within me as I realise what harm this has done to my chances of winning the Games this year, in terms of both resources and potential future sponsor support.

Perhaps, the only obvious positive is that there is no way that whoever triggered this explosion is still alive. With all the explosions going on, there's no way we've heard the cannon, and judging by the condition of our camp, I doubt there's a piece of them left for the hovercraft to collect. We won't have a chance to find out who's been killed until the death recap later tonight.

We all stop a hundred yards from the remains of the pyramid of supplies, in case some of the mines managed to avoid detonation. Cato orders Pixel to throw stones into the wreckage, to find out if it's safe for us to see if we can find something, _anything_ , to salvage.

While Pixel is checking the area, I stand silently beside my two allies, all of us lost in our own anger. Clove looks murderous, Cato irate. As angry as I am, I'm worried the others are going to act impulsively. Now, more than ever, we need to act carefully. As much as I've tried to make myself appear strong, confident and not scared easily, I know it's time to tone down the bravado for a while and try to get us through this mess. Clearly Cato's lost his head - I can see his fist twitching as we wait, eager to do anything to relieve stress - and who can ever tell what Clove thinks?

Eventually Pixel declares the area safe, and I'm not surprised when Cato storms to what had been the centre of the supplies, kicking lumps out of the battered crates that remain, shouting and cursing. Clove and I are more reserved, more tentative, turning over any scraps that have been left by the explosion.

It doesn't take either of us long to realise there's nothing here worth keeping but Cato's barely paying attention, still lost in his own world of fury. He's rambling, a violent stream of consciousness being propelled to anyone who's willing to listen.

"This is all _her_ fault," Cato spits out, finally looking up as Clove approaches him gingerly. We don't question who he's referring to. He hasn't been able to shut up about the girl from District 12 since she outscored him in training. If I wasn't stuck in the arena with this madman, I'd find the whole situation comical. Who cares who your father is? If you can't cut it, you can't cut it. End of story. If Sextus Cato wants to get out of this arena like his father and grandfather did, he'll need to pick up his game. If not, he'll end up like his brother.

And the longer he stays like this, fragile and volatile, the better for me.

"I'm sure she set us up," Cato continues, rambling furiously. "She's already had it in for us once; I'm sure she's at it again..."

"Cato, please calm down," Clove pleads with him, finally showing some concern. "You're not helping anyone..."

"You know who else never helped anyone?" Cato snaps, looking up beyond Clove at Pixel. "District Three..."

I'm too far away to react and Clove doesn't have a chance of stopping Cato as he charges past her, grabbing Pixel before he's had a chance to move more than a couple of paces. Cato grabs Pixel roughly and pulls him close, wrapping his arms around the boy's neck and jerking him violently.

It's a technique an elderly victor called Sheen once taught me in District 1's Training Centre, and I'm absolutely certain it's lethal. There's a disturbing crack, and then Pixel's body falls heavily to the floor.

Clove's standing in front of him before the cannon fires, waving her arms in desperation, trying to calm him down. Almost instinctively, I find myself moving to help her. The last thing we need is Cato taking out his rage on us.

By the time I reach them, Clove's got her hands on Cato's cheeks, forcing him to look at her as she speaks quickly and intensely. I can't make out everything she says, but I can tell she's desperately trying to coax this anger out of Cato in a fashion that looks a little too well-practiced for my liking.

When we first spoke in the gymnasium on the first day of training, Clove told us that she barely knew Cato, except as an acquaintance from years of training - a relationship no different to myself and Glimmer. I was aware of who she was, respected her obvious talents, but barely knew the girl. The longer we get into these Games, and the less other tributes that are around to see their interactions, I am beginning to get the sense that Clove may not have been entirely truthful with us back in training.

"Whatever," Cato finally says tiredly, stepping away from Clove as I reach them. Clove looks hurt for a fraction of a second, but hides it well. "We just need to get back out there and hunt her down. The longer we leave it, the further away she gets."

"Cato, listen, " I say forcefully, enough to snap him from his receding fury and notice me. "There's no chance we heard the cannon though all of those explosions, but whoever did this almost certainly blew themselves up."

"You don't know what she's capable of," Cato counters. "She's probably got Glimmer's bow-"

" _Please,_ " I silence him, and to my surprise Cato stops to listen. I think he's so used to having his word taken at first value, he's not prepared for someone to challenge his orders. Now, with just three of us left in this alliance, I have to try and take at least a share of control. "There's no point in doing anything until we see whose face we see tonight," I add, gesturing upwards into the clear sky.

"Fine," Cato scowls at me. "We'd better move away to let the hovercraft in." Without saying another word, he stalks away towards the lake. Clove and I exchange a brief look that I can't claim to understand, but we set off after him anyway.

* * *

It takes around twenty minutes before the hovercraft appears overhead, lifting Pixel's limp body out of the arena. Compared to some of us this year, his end was remarkably quick. It's strange to think that, in just a few days, his body will be halfway across the country, returned to a mourning family in District 3...

I force myself to think of other thoughts, but all I can focus on is how stupid we all were for accepting his plan. Clove, Gabriella and Peeta for being convinced by him, and the rest of us for listening to them. We should have played things by the book, and just killed him to make things easier for us. But we got greedy, enticed by the possibility of finishing the Games a little faster, no more guard duty and, at least in my case, the possibility that our novel way of defending our supplies might give me some distinction once I've won the Games. We were all greedy, and we paid the price for it.

With Pixel out of the way, there are just eight tributes left alive in the arena; just five others outside of our alliance. The girl from District 5, and both from Districts 11 and 12. If our hunch is correct - and it must be - one of those five was killed while taking out our supplies. Of those outside the alliance, Katniss and Thresh managed to score higher than me in training. They are still major threats. Despite this, and despite us losing the majority of our supplies, we're still most likely the favourites to win the Games this year.

With most of our supplies gone, as well as most of our useful tools, I'm down to the supplies that I chose to take with me today to hunt whoever set off those smoke signals. After the events with Katniss a few days ago that led to the deaths of Glimmer and Gabriella, we've all been carrying a little more with us every time we leave camp, in case we're forced to spend another night away. With today's events, that decision has proved invaluable to us. Sure, it's much less than what we had before, but I've still got my jacket, a sleeping bag, half a dozen knives, a few replacement spearheads and food that could last me two days if I ration myself well.

Along with those items, I'm carrying the one spear I grip tightly as I watch over the other Careers while we wait for nightfall. It's been a long day, and we're resting by the lake until we know who's been taken out of the Games today, along with the boys from Three and Ten. Cato and Clove lie on their backs by the shore of the lake together. Cato has his eyes shut, his fists clenched as he attempts to block out the world, still quietly seething. Clove lies beside him, her eyes flickering across the clouds in the sky, tinged pink in the evening sun. One of her hands is wrapped around Cato's, her thumb tracing patterns on his knuckles.

With just three of us Careers left alive, our alliance is more fragile than ever, and with every passing hour I get the sense that there is something more between Cato and Clove. An understanding that I never shared with Glimmer, that's for sure. Whether that's the way they train them in Two, I don't know, but it wouldn't surprise me if they were friends before the arena.

With the pool of tributes quickly shrinking and our alliance now cut to three, I am beginning to get the sense that the alliance will not last much longer, and that when it does fall apart, I'm going to be the victim. The way that things appear between Cato and Clove as the Games progress, there's no way I'm going to be anything other than a third wheel from now.

I'm going to need to get out soon, and it'll be best to do it on my terms.

No sooner am I starting to plan my escape does the Capitol seal appear in the sky above me. Cato and Clove quickly get to their feet, standing beside me as we look up at the sky together, to find out who our mines managed to take out. Personally, I'm hoping it was Thresh.

I can't help noticing that as we stand there together, Cato and Clove are still holding hands.

The first face in the sky is the boy from Three; it couldn't have been anyone else.

Second comes the boy from Ten we killed together in the woods this morning. It feels like so long ago already; so much has happened since. That means that the girl from Five, whose name I can't even remember, is still alive and out there in the woods somewhere.

We all wait eagerly to find out who else died today, and we're all taken by surprise when the Capitol seal appears in the sky after the face of the boy from Ten.

Nobody else died today. Our mines didn't kill anyone.

That means that whoever destroyed our supplies - and this is starting to look more like intentional, planned sabotage - got away with it.

"Right," Cato says determinedly. "What a waste of an evening. We've got time to make up." He reaches into his backpack and pulls out our two pairs of night-vision glasses. He puts on one pair and hands the other to Clove without a glance at me. Recognising the snub for what it is, I'm quick to break a branch from a nearby tree, lighting it as a torch as we begin our march back into the forests to hunt. None of us have any objections as Cato leads the way this time.

* * *

The night passes almost without incident. We traipse through the woods aimlessly, searching for any signs of movement, but there is nothing. With so few tributes left alive, I can't say that it surprises me. Sometimes Cato takes the lead and sometimes I do, Cato and Clove hanging back behind me, talking in quiet voices that I struggle to hear, silencing whenever I drop back towards them.

With the first light of dawn shining through the trees as Cato directs us onto another randomly chosen route through the trees, I can't help shaking the feeling that the real tribute the others want to hunt tonight isn't the one they say they're after.

It's me.

Eventually, sensing that I need to take some action, I stop ahead of my allies, turning to face them with one hand holding my spear, another resting on the carved hilt of a knife in my belt.

"Look, why don't we just get on with this already?" I challenge them, staring straight into Cato's eyes. The move isn't wasted on either of them.

Clove scowls at me, but Cato steps in front of her protectively, crossing his arms as he looks at me, aloof.

"You really want to do this now?" Somehow, he manages to make it sound like a fight now would only be a minor annoyance to him.

Suddenly I'm aware that I'm about to do something that only one tribute has ever managed to do in the history of the Games; fight a Cato and get away with it. But it is too late to back down now.

"Sure, why not, _Sextus_ ," I chuckle. In referring to him by his given name, I've made it clear I'm not playing by his rules anymore. My time in his alliance is over. Clove seems offended, but Cato is just flustered, giving me a chance to lunge in first with my knife. Quick as I am, his free hand swats away my lunge as he takes a step backwards, almost crashing into Clove, who dives out of the way. She rolls through and is back on her feet in an instant, but I've already turned to run, using the trees for my cover. Cato tries to throw his one spear, but it catches on the branches of a nearby tree and never reaches me. He doesn't bother to pursue me as I weave through the trees; we all know I'm the fastest runner of the three.

Clove makes an attempt to catch me, hurling knives in desperation at ranges she can barely manage in the dim light, but none of them trouble me as I sprint away, the adrenalin rushing through me.

Even though I know the tributes from District 2 have given up chasing me - I can hear their shouted insults echoing through the woods - I don't dare to stop running for at least ten minutes, desperate to put as much distance between us as possible. By the time I do slow to catch my breath, probably at least a mile from Cato and Clove, I take a few seconds to process what I've done.

I've left the Career alliance, probably putting an end to the last inter-district alliance in this year's Hunger Games. Of the eight tributes that remain, I'm sure nobody will be working in anything more than a pair.

I grin as I think about what's left to come in the Games. This is the part of the Games that I've trained for my entire life. How to survive by myself in a hostile arena. How to defend myself and outlast the other tributes. Surviving the Career alliance takes some luck and a lot of psychology, but from now on I'll by judged purely on my skill as a tribute. And on my day, I know that nobody can touch me.

I think back to the shocked looks on the faces of my former allies as I turned on them. I knew I would never win a fight two on one, but I knew I could surprise them enough to make my escape.

Next time I meet them, however, my plans will certainly be more offensively-minded.

 _You've started a war you're not going to win, Sextus Aurelius Cato. Are you going to be ready for me when I come for you?_

* * *

 **A/N: Yet again, I have to say that I think this chapter has been the most enjoyable to write so far in the story - this just seems to be getting better and better for me.**

 **Still, if you enjoyed this chapter, please review! As ever, constructive criticism is welcomed :)**

 **I think the next chapter's going to be pretty challenging, but I'm hoping to have it posted by the end of the weekend :)**


	19. Waves of Fear

**A/N: Thanks to TheAmazingJAJ and Jemmie for reviewing the last chapter! The support is appreciated :)**

 **Here's another chapter than I really enjoyed writing - I hope that you all enjoy reading it just as much :)**

* * *

 **"What a world this is, but we don't know what to do with it**

 **Transform yourself, and let's disappear."**

 **\- Paul Smith, 2012.**

* * *

 **Chapter Nineteen**

 **Rue Parker (12), District 11 Female**

 **10.00 am, Monday 27th July, Day 9 of the 74th Hunger Games**

 **Maxïmo** **Park - Waves of Fear (2012)**

* * *

I wake several hours after sunrise, the heat of the day already pushing through the shade of the trees.

I'm curled up within the branches of a tall ash tree, tucked away within Katniss' sleeping bag, which has given me a better night's sleep than any other so far in the Games. After days of sleep deprivation during bitterly cold nights, I'm grateful for the catch-up.

In hindsight, I can see that our plan yesterday has worked almost perfectly. I don't know what Katniss has managed to do, but I'm almost entirely certain that the colossal explosion late yesterday afternoon wiped out the Careers' supplies by the lake. I had done as Katniss suggested, moving from fire to fire, lighting them at intervals, hoping to lure the Careers away from their camp. I was midway between the second and third fires when the explosion hit. Sensing that our job was done, I chose not to move on to the third fire, holding tight until I had a better picture of what had happened. There was no point in attracting more attention than I needed to by lighting another fire.

The sound of a cannon fifteen minutes after the explosion unnerved me - maybe the Careers caught up with Katniss, or else she injured herself in the explosion and they finished her off? - but when the death recap came last night, there were just two faces in the sky, those of Pixel from Three and Angus from Ten. There are still eight of us left alive.

I decided to stay put, not risking the arena at night with furious Careers on the loose, finding a safe tree and staying out the night. Katniss is still alive, and wherever she is, I'm sure she's holding out fine. We had agreed to rendezvous at our first meeting point, but I don't feel confident making the journey there by myself. Before Katniss, I had travelled through the arena at relative ease, but suddenly now I feel much more vulnerable by myself.

Also, if my hunch is correct and the Careers' supplies are gone, then Marvel, Cato and Clove have less cause to be tethered to the Cornucopia. Given that they are likely stalking the woods right now, the thought of spending two hours walking back to our original meeting place doesn't appeal to me as much anymore. Katniss is smart and resourceful; when she finds our meeting place abandoned, she'll know that I'm likely somewhere on the route between our fires. I just need to wait it out.

The day passes slowly, tucked away in the branches of a tree, not wanting for anything. For the first time since I've entered the arena, I've got more food than I need, because of all the hunting I did with Katniss yesterday morning. With all the action yesterday, I'm sure that the Gamemakers will be willing to give me a day of peace. There's little that I can do but sit and wait.

Somehow it seems strange to me that I've managed to last so long in the Games, as young as I am. One of just two twelve-year-olds reaped for the 74th Hunger Games, and the only one to make it to the arena; my ally Katniss made sure the only other twelve-year-old never left her district. Even though I know I'm more capable than many tributes my age, I can't pretend that I wasn't terrified for my entire time in the Capitol. Nobody aged just twelve has ever survived the Hunger Games.

Leaving my district behind was horrible; it might not be paradise, but it's all I've ever known, holding everyone I've ever loved. My mother, my five younger siblings, that I try my best to care for, just as Katniss does for her sister. Not that I will be able to do anything for them now. At least not unless I win, and then none of them will ever want for anything ever again.

From the moment the Gamemakers gave me a score of seven in training, I knew that if the arena played to my strengths, I might be able to make it. What the Gamemakers have provided me with could hardly have become more perfect. So many miles of dense forests, perfect for providing the cover that I need to move through the arena unnoticed. So many trees I can use to evade my enemies, that - if I ever dare to fight - I could use to attack from above. With so many miles of open land around me, the freedom of no electrified fences and the liberty to act as I please, I've found myself feeling far more at home here in the arena than I ever did in the Capitol, and even perhaps more so than my home in District 11. This is a place where I can thrive.

Not that I've become complacent; I am just as wary and cautious as I was hiding on my first night in the arena. But I feel like I understand this place, know how to act here. I can only imagine that the mysterious and elusive girl from District 5, Ashleen, has found similar advantages in the arena. I doubt anyone expected either of us to get this deep into the Games.

After almost a week of travelling through the arena alone, I found Katniss two days ago, struggling with the after-effects of tracker jacker venom. Knowing a thing or two about how to treat the stings, and feeling a strange kinship with her after her behaviour at the reaping, I chose to reveal myself and offer her help. At the time I had been scared the decision would be a mistake, but now I'm certain that teaming with her has been the best decision I've made so far in the Games. She has given me security, peace of mind, a purpose. She has given me confidence, and the belief that maybe now we do stand a chance of winning the Games.

In spending two days with her, I can see myself wanting to grow into her mould, to be such an inspiration to my family in the same way that Katniss surely drives hers. In District 12, where they surely suffer just as we do in Eleven, Katniss' hardships have sharpened her into a girl who is confident, resilient and proactive, ready to take the fight to anyone who stands in the way of her or anyone she loves. This determination inspires me to lead a similar path, one I only hope my family feel that I've already started on.

Together, if we're lucky, I'm sure that one of us will make it through.

However, as the sun continues to pass through the sky, there's no sign of anyone around me, especially not Katniss. I haven't seen any signs of a tribute being close to me all day. I presume that, with there being no more cannons, Katniss is in good enough health to have returned to our predetermined meeting point; surely soon she will realise that I won't be making it back, and that she'll know to come and look for me?

Sensing that I need to act, need to make a brave decision and act just as Katniss would, I pack up my belongings and carefully lower myself back down from my tree, setting off on foot back towards our meeting place. I pull out my slingshot, holding it tightly. It might not be as impressive as a bow or a sword, but as the Gamemakers found out during my private session, I can pack quite a punch with it.

I being singing my short tune to the mockingjays, to let Katniss know that I'm OK and that I'm looking for her. The small birds pick up the tune ahead of me as I run into a clearing, carrying the tune ahead of me.

Suddenly, almost out of nowhere near the edge of the clearing, there's a pull on my ankle and I crash to the floor, pain shooting through my shoulder as I feel the heavy weight of a net fall around me, pinning me down. I scream in panic, all rational thought flooding from my brain as I shout out, "Katniss! Katniss!" I can only hope that she hears me before whoever set this trap returns to kill me.

I try to reach around for the sharp rock I've been using as I knife, which I keep in my pack, but my hands are tangled in the mesh and I can't manage to take the pack off as I flounder on the floor, like a fish out of water. I belong in the trees, not stuck here trapped on the ground...

I'm surprised and relieved to quickly hear Katniss' voice calling my name back. She's all right after all, and she's close!

However, as I see her crash through the undergrowth into the clearing ahead of me, I'm vaguely aware of a taller figure appearing to my left.

The spear is through me before I'm aware of it, shocking me as it punches through my stomach. I roll over, gasping and panting, clutching my bloody stomach as I curl around the weapon, the pain cutting past any thoughts my conscious mind can muster. I'm vaguely aware of Katniss shooting her bow, the sound of the boy nearby collapsing. Katniss shouts, asking if there's anyone else around.

I try to speak, to tell her that I think he was on his own, but I have to say no several times before she hears me. Just trying to speak leaves me so out of breath.

The pain takes over, almost completely blocking out my senses as I feel Katniss' knife cut me free of the net. She doesn't attempt to do anything with the spear; I think she can see that this is the end of me, just as much as I can feel it.

I reach out for Katniss and she grasps my hand tightly. I'm glad that, here at the end, she is with me. I left my family behind over two weeks ago, but she has become my family in the arena.

"You blew up the food?" I manage to ask her, my voice barely above a whisper as I try to push the pain from my mind.

"Every last bit," Katniss nods.

"You have to win," I say, and I mean it. There's nobody else I want to get through this now.

"I'm going to," she replies. "Going to win for both of us now."

A cannon fires, startling both of us. It must be for the boy Katniss just shot, although I can't help thinking about how soon it will be until mine fires...

Suddenly I'm scared, a desperate child again, any attempt at strength passing through me as I grasp Katniss' hand with all strength I can muster.

"Don't go," I hate how feeble and pleading my voice sounds; this is what I have been reduced to.

"Course not," Katniss says, sitting down beside me, resting my head on her lap, her hands running through my hair. "Staying right here."

I am silent for a moment, unable to hold back the pain. Breathing shakily, as deeply as I can, I try to weather the storm. I can feel my extremities going numb, see spots spark in front of my eyes.

"Sing," I say quietly to Katniss. I need something, anything, that will take my mind away from here...

Katniss frowns for a second before nodding slowly, clearing her throat as she begins:

 _Deep in the meadow, under the willow_  
 _A bed of grass, a soft green pillow_  
 _Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes_  
 _And when they open again, the sun will rise._

 _Here it's safe, here it's warm_  
 _Here the daisies guard you from every harm_  
 _Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true_  
 _Here is the place where I love you._

 _Deep in the meadow, hidden far away_  
 _A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray_  
 _Forget your woes and let your troubles lay_  
 _And when again it's morning, they'll wash away_

 _Here it's safe, here's it's warm_  
 _Here the daisies guard..._

* * *

 **A/N: This has been one of the most challenging things I've had to write yet - honestly I'm not even sure if I've done it justice, but I felt that this scene simply _had_ to be included.**

 **Of course, compared to many of the chapters in this fic, this chapter has leant more heavily on scenes within the original _The Hunger Games_ book, but I don't think there's another way of writing this one.**

 **If you did enjoy reading this chapter, please review! I'll always accept constructive criticism :)**


	20. Wolf Among Men

**A/N: Thanks to TheAmazingJAJ and melliemoo for reviewing! I really, really appreciate seeing the support! :)**

 **This chapter is far more introspective than most, but it's been an absolute delight to write; I've been looking forward to this one for a while...**

* * *

 **"Maybe the saddest thing I know**

 **Is the fate of people close to me**

 **I am a wolf among men, and I'll take what I can get**

 **I am lost in your eyes, and filling with regret."**

 **\- Paul Smith, 2012.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty**

 **Clove Stephenson (18), District 2 Female**

 **12.00 pm, Thursday 30th July, Day 12 of the 74th Hunger Games**

 **Maxïmo** **Park - Wolf Among Men (2012)**

* * *

It's been a strange few days in the arena since Marvel left us, but almost definitely the best we've had yet.

Two weeks of struggling through the tetchy bravado of the Career alliance, finding ourselves acquiring other tributes that tagged along and ultimately held us down, before finally now being free of it all and free to play the game at our own pace.

Now, high up on a hill a couple of miles from the Cornucopia that looks out over the vast, expansive wheat fields that make up a large portion of our arena, I feel more settled than ever. Lying lazily in a hammock Aurelius crafted two days ago, I while away the day glancing upwards through the trees while he hunts for firewood. The numbers in the Games are so low now - just six of us remain, following the deaths of Marvel and the girl from Eleven three days ago - that we haven't been under any pressure for a while. We don't know what's going on with District 12, and we haven't seen Ashleen from Five since the first day of the Games, but we're fairly sure we know what's going on with Thresh, the biggest threat left to us in the arena, no matter how much Aurelius wants us to watch out for Katniss. The second I get my hands on her, she's finished.

We've seen Thresh from a distance a couple of times, stalking through the chest-high grasses purposefully, but we're as tentative to enter his domain as he would likely be entering ours, picking a fight in the woods. I can only sense that when the time comes for the inevitable fight to take place, it will be at the Gamemakers' demand, and not our choice.

Even with the unique circumstances that govern my appearance in the 74th Hunger Games, I know I've fared as well as my trainers and mentor - a vicious woman named Enobaria who's almost thirty - could have hoped for. Normally by now, all alliances would have fallen apart, Aurelius and I would have separated and gone our own ways, but two nights ago Claudius Templesmith made an announcement that changed everything.

For the first time, two tributes can win the Hunger Games if they are both from the same district.

We can both make it home together as victors.

"Clove?" I hear his voice calling me, and I sit up in my hammock. Looking around, I see him carrying large stacks of firewood, looking hot and flustered. I fling myself out of the hammock and run over to him, running into his grateful arms as the firewood lies discarded at our feet.

"Easy, girl," Aurelius laughs, planting a kiss on my forehead as his strong, muscular arms envelop me. I rest my head on his chest, but back off when I feel how warm he is, how fast his heart is beating.

"I think you're the one who needs a rest," I say, backing away.

Aurelius shrugs, but walks over towards our hammock, placed between two small, sturdy pines, removing his shirt to cool down. Instinctively I chastise myself, tell myself to look away, even though I know I don't need to anymore.

I've known Sextus Aurelius Cato for most of my life, first encountering him as a bold, energetic eight-year-old who spoke proudly of his older brother Quintus - the fifth male of the Cato line - who he knew would win the Hunger Games, just as his father and grandfather had done. When Quintus died during the final moments of the 66th Hunger Games, outlasted by only the tributes of District 4, one of whom was already bleeding to death, it was apparent that Aurelius had to change, shouldering responsibility his parents had always pushed towards his late brother.

It didn't take long after this for Aurelius to drop his given name, choosing to only be addressed by his surname. Why be proud of being the sixth male of the Cato line after what happened to his brother? Only in recent years have I been able to call him Aurelius - a name he often dismisses as making him sound too much like a man of the Capitol - but that is a name I alone can call him, and only when we're alone.

A year after Quintus' death, we were both signing up to join District 2's famous Training Centre, to prepare for the Hunger Games under the watch of some of the greatest victors Panem has ever seen. For Aurelius, it was always for honour, to protect the family pride, although my motivations were more selfish. Despite having a victor in the family - my grandfather's youngest sister won the 34th Games - I couldn't help but be tempted by the riches and the glory. Perhaps being so close to celebrity through my youth left me with a taste for it, I can't exactly remember. What I do remember clearly was how, once I did begin training, I quickly became hooked.

In those first years at the Training Centre, back when I was thirteen or fourteen, I was regularly training for ten hours a day, spending a lot of my time with Enobaria working on my natural gift with knives. In the evenings, when regular lessons were over and the Centre was almost deserted, I would spend hours sparring with the only other person of my age who put in the hours that I would; Aurelius.

The late nights we spent together alone in the well-lit training rooms at the back of the Training Centre put both of us head and shoulders above our competition. In the eyes of the trainers around us, we were the star pupils, the example that the younger trainees needed to look up to - and some of the older ones, too. At first I resented the role, but I grew into it the more I made the Training Centre my home.

An only child born to alcoholic parents, those nights in the Training Centre kept me going through some of the most testing moments of my life. For Aurelius, whose family had fallen apart in the aftermath of Quintus' death, training was the only way to keep him distracted.

We made a good team, too. We were both strong competitors, but our time together improved both of us; we sharpened each other, honing our crafts together. We worked better together than alone.

At first I was going because I needed the competition, the motivation to succeed, but soon I was going as an excuse to spend time with Aurelius. We may have quickly won each other's respect, but it didn't take us much longer to win each other's hearts.

I think I was fifteen the first time I kissed him. It was in the rain at night, under the street lamp at the end of his grandfather's vast driveway in Victors' Village. I had offered to walk him home that night after training together. It was nervous and awkward and without half of the small romantic touches I was too scared to add, but we've never looked back since.

With him, life just kept getting better and better as we grew into an inseparable being that thrived on our connection, working with a frenzy towards a combined goal.

As last summer's Games came to pass, and the immediacy of the arena became apparent for us, the incompatibility of our desired futures came into question. With both of us aspiring to volunteer for the 74th Hunger Games, a future between us was becoming more and more of an issue. But I knew what I had to do. It was November when I caved, stepping away from the Training Centre, abandoning my plans to volunteer for the Games.

It was only then that Aurelius asked me to marry him, subject to his victory in this summer's Games. Seeing the pieces falling into place in my mind, I accepted in an instant.

Then in March this year came the trials. Unlike in the other Career districts, the trials in District 2 are fought to the death with real weapons. Our trainers argue that it's better to find out who's got the guts to kill before the Games begin for real, and that we've all signed up to be dicing with death anyway. Nobody in our district questions the arrangement, anyway.

As I expected, Aurelius wiped the floor with the other boys in his training class, barely suffering more than a scratch in his week-long mock Games. Then it was the girls' turn, and in the trials that I would have comfortably won, the final two girls caused such horrific damage to each other that the survivor of the battle couldn't be saved. For the first time in almost forty years, the Training Centre was unable to provide a trained female volunteer for that summer's Hunger Games.

It was a blustery day in late March, the day after the survivor's death, that eight victors were knocking on my door, begging me to reconsider my decision. Whatever my position with Aurelius, no matter how much I wanted him and craved for our engagement, I knew that by declining, I would be condemning some poor, unfortunate girl to a desperate fate.

With a life on the line, there was nothing else that needed to be said.

And so just like that, the engagement was off.

The wedding was cancelled.

Together with the other trainers and Aurelius' estranged father Brutus, who had been trying to reconnect with his son following his own father's death, I worked with Aurelius in the Training Centre once more, preparing us both for the Games though the most heart-wrenching months of my life. The pain of our future came between us, leaving our relationship an uncomfortable shell of what it once was in those months before the reaping.

One of us was going to have to watch the other die.

Since the reaping, we've agreed to act indifferent to each other in public, although in private we've clung to each other for support through the most demanding weeks of our lives, the pressure driving us back together again, as if the past few months never happened. As proud, dominant Careers, we'd never considered using our relationship - which I wasn't even sure could have been called a relationship, considering we both knew it would surely end in the arena - as a tool for winning sponsors, the way District 12 did. Aside from Katniss outscoring Aurelius - who became the first Cato not to achieve the highest training score in their Games - I'm almost convinced that half of his vendetta against Twelve his because Peeta has been able to show his true colours, while he has been forced to suffer in silence, with me tantalisingly close but just out of reach.

However, once Marvel made a run for it and we've been alone in these woodlands, all of our desperation has driven us closer together, abandoning our pretence of indifference and choosing to live these last few days we have together as one.

It almost didn't surprise me how soon after Aurelius and I made this decision, shortly after the word _love_ began to feature heavily in our conversations, that there was a rule change announced.

I could hear the words Claudius Templesmith was trying to say, even if he didn't quite phrase it that way.

 _May the best couple win._

Now, two days later, backed with a recent flood of sponsor support following Templesmith's announcement, everything in my life has been turned on its head once again.

We're surviving the Hunger Games, and we can do it together. We can both win. Even though neither of us have explicitly said it, the engagement is back on.

I can have Aurelius again.

I look over at him as he relaxes just as I did earlier, feeling a rush of warmth as I see him flick his longest strands of hair out of his eyes, a habit he's had for years. I try to focus on my new job - using the small axe we carry to cut the firewood Aurelius collected - but I'm soon distracted by a flare of trumpets and the sound of Claudius Templesmith's voice.

At first I'm terrified he's going to tell us of a revision of the rules, that my hopes and dreams are about to be torn apart, but I find that I'm lucky.

"Congratulations, tributes, on reaching the final six of this year's Hunger Games!" Templesmith begins with his usual vigour. "We intend to hold a feast in your honour, here in the arena. Now hold on. Some of you may already be declining my invitation. But this is no ordinary feast. Each of you needs something desperately."

This throws me off guard. What could I possibly need, when everything is going so well?

"Each of you will find that something in a backpack, marked with your district number, at the Cornucopia at dawn," Templesmith continues. "Think hard about refusing to show up. For some of you, this will be your last chance."

I wait to hear what else Templesmith has to say, but instead I'm just greeted with the sound of birds singing in the trees. That's all there is to hear, apparently.

"Sounds like some of our friends in the arena aren't doing so well," Aurelius says behind me. He walks up behind me, wrapping his arms around my small waist and kissing me on the cheek. I can't help but smile.

"I bet it's District Twelve, if you did as much damage as you say you did," I say.

"Of course I did, Clove. It's a miracle that he's lasted this long, don't you think?"

"I guess Katniss is looking out for him now, right?" I ask.

"Course she is," Aurelius replies, frowning. "She's a right pain, that one is."

"So what do you think we desperately need?" I ask, hoping to cut him off before he begins one of his trademark rants.

I feel Aurelius shrug behind me. "I reckon it'll be a weapon, or something else that will give us a clear advantage against Katniss or Thresh. Can't see there being anything else we'd need right now."

"Do you really think we need anything else to take them all down?" I challenge Aurelius. Our whole relationship has been built on moments like this, pushing to get one up on the other. There has to be a winner and a loser in every action, even in a conversation where would normally both agree.

For once, though, Aurelius doesn't rise to the bait.

"Of course not," he says. "Although, if the Gamemakers want to give us an assault rifle, I wouldn't complain..."

I roll my eyes, punching him playfully on the shoulder as I move away.

"Come on," I tell him. "Let's get moving. Best to be nearby in plenty of time, otherwise the best waiting spaces will be taken."

"You've got a point there," Aurelius grins, turning to start gathering our belongings.

If the Gamemakers are calling a feast, they must be wanting to ramp things up towards the finale of this year's Games. As I help the young man I love pack away our things as before we travel together back towards the Cornucopia, I can't help thinking about how quickly everything fell apart for me this spring, and about how quickly this last week has led Aurelius and myself full circle, back to where we once were. I have never met a person who inspires me to better myself as much as he does, if not to prove it to myself then definitely to prove to him that I am someone he deserves.

All through our teenage years, our bond has grown stronger and stronger, tying us together into an unstoppable unit that will continue to drive a dominant path through the arena until there is nobody left standing in our way.

And then finally, he will be mine, for now and forever.

This feast will just be another hurdle to crash straight through, another step on the path to our victory.

After all, we make a pretty decent team.

* * *

 **A/N: This possibly got a little bit ramble-y towards the end and way more explicitly Clato than even I quite expected, even though this is the way I've always seen the books.**

 **Still, I'm sure this chapter may be one to divide opinion, and so I'm eager to hear your thoughts! Whatever you thought of this chapter, I'd be eager to hear your opinions via review! As ever, constructive criticism is welcomed :)**


	21. Sleep

**A/N: Thanks to Santiago poncini20, the unconventionalwriter, Jemmie and melliemoo for reviewing! As ever, I really appreciate the support :)**

 **It's been a busy few days since I've last posted - sorry this chapter took slightly longer to come together than I'd hoped.**

 **Anyway, here's another chapter with reasonable amounts of crossover with the original Hunger Games book. I hope that you all enjoy reading it :)**

* * *

 **"I don't wanna sleep**

 **'Cause I've had enough**

 **Of this same ugly dream**

 **I can** ' **t switch it off.** **"**

 **\- Mike Kerr, 2017.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-One**

 **Thresh Kane (18), District 11 Male**

 **6.45 am, Friday 31st July, Day 13 of the 74th Hunger Games**

 **Royal Blood - Sleep (2017)**

* * *

The first light of dawn tints the thin clouds in the sky as I continue my march towards the Cornucopia for the feast. I'm sure that some of the tributes have been there for hours already. I wouldn't even be surprised if Sextus Cato and Clove have camped out in the Cornucopia in advance, making everyone else keep their distance. However, with nobody by my side (unlike Districts 2 and 12), I didn't dare to arrive yesterday. Sleeping alone in a place where you're expecting visitors is never a clever idea.

Instead, I took the gamble on sleeping early yesterday, hoping that I'd wake up in plenty of time to make the journey back to where the Games began before dawn. It's paid off, as I find myself striding through the gentle rise back towards the edge of the clearing that holds the Cornucopia in perfect time.

Since my success at the Cornucopia, bagging one of just three swords and taking off with a rucksack full of precious supplies, I've largely kept myself to myself, hidden away in the low-lying plains at the edge of the arena. Most of the tributes have headed straight for the woodland, believing it to be safer, and perhaps they were right, but I've coped just fine where I am. Sure, the Gamemakers have given me a rough ride, with the long grasses hiding an unsurprising amount of traps and vicious mutations, but I've survived everything they've thrown at me so far.

The pack I picked up at the Cornucopia provided me with enough food to last me into the second week of the Games, and since then I've found plenty within the arena to sustain myself. I guess it's one of the perks of the long days in the fields back home in Eleven. I know how to get sustenance from the land. Having spent the last year training to control harvesting machinery, I know exactly how to feed myself. Finally, in being picked to learn a skilled job out of school, I might have managed to earn my small family some extra money, hopefully enough to prevent my younger sister Michaela from taking any tesserae next year. She'll be seventeen at the next reaping, and the only reason she hasn't taken any tesserae yet is because I've been signing up for tesserae for the whole family.

However, after seven years gaining four entries each time (one set of tesserae for each of myself, my sister and my mother), it finally caught up to me. I had a strange feeling that morning at the reaping, like I already knew what was coming. But I wasn't scared. I just accepted my fate, accepted the game I have been forced to play. I know that, compared to many others, I'm lucky. A frame like mine and I'm as much of a threat as the dreaded Career Tributes without trying.

I haven't found the Games easy so far, but I've certainly found it easier than some others, such as my district partner, Rue. Just twelve years old, she was a wisp of a girl who was as much under average weight for her age as I was over it. If there's anything more painful than watching a twelve-year-old get reaped for your district, it's going through the Games alongside her, knowing that deep down, you want her to die so that you can survive, even if you don't admit it to yourself.

Watching Rue struggle through training, trying to keep everything together, has been torturous. None of us deserve to die in this arena, but she deserved it the least. Somehow, though, not only did Rue stay in control of herself, she outdid everyone's expectations, scoring well in training and managing her interview well. By the time she survived through the bloodbath at the Cornucopia on first day of the Games, I have to admit I was proud of the little girl.

Every day, as more and more tributes fell and the field was cut down to size, somehow Rue's face never showed in the sky. I hadn't seen anything of her since before the arena, but she had managed to exceed expectations once again, finding a way to keep herself alive.

Then, late in the afternoon four days ago, two cannons fired in quick succession.

I was devastated to see her face in the sky that night, along with Marvel from District 1. I didn't expect to feel as hurt as I did, for her death to hit me so hard, but somewhere along the way Rue had won me over, made me root for her as much as anyone.

I haven't had a good night's sleep since.

With Marvel's death so close to hers, I can only presume that the three surviving Careers finally caught up with Rue, and that she was somehow able to kill Marvel before being overpowered. Even achieving that is incredible, given her size. But with fresh pain to deal with, the two surviving Careers have become the target of my rage in the days since Rue's death.

As much as I wish I could take the fight to Sextus Cato and Clove, I'm reluctant to hunt them down in the woods that they have made their home, reluctant to let our inevitable fight come on their ground. I'm sure that the reason I haven't been challenged yet is for much of the same reasons. I doubt Clove in particular wants to run blindly through these long grasses in pursuit of me.

I've glimpsed the tributes from Two a couple of times since the bloodbath at the Cornucopia, most recently two days ago, when they were high on the wooded slopes of a hill that overlooks the edge of the fields I patrol. I don't know if they spotted me, but if they did, they certainly didn't want anything to do with me.

However, with a feast imminent, there's soon going to be no way of avoiding a confrontation.

When Claudius Templesmith announced the feast, to take place at dawn at the Cornucopia today, I was confused at first when he told us there would be something at the feast that we would each need desperately. Since arriving in the arena, I haven't wanted for anything. I haven't even needed sponsor support yet. I've managed to get past every obstacle the Gamemakers have thrown at me (presumably whenever they think I've been too boring) by myself. Surely, if there was something I needed desperately by now, my mentor Chaff would have provided it for me? I'm certain that, by surviving this late into the Games, with just six tributes left alive, I will have amassed enough sponsor support for at least one gift.

So, in having received nothing from Chaff, I spent hours trying to work out what I could possibly want from the feast today.

And then it hit me.

What I need from the feast is District 2's backpack.

I need a way of forcing this fight between us, of making it happen on my terms. Stealing their supplies from the feast is a definite way to make them pursue me, eventually back into my realm, the fields full of grasses, where I know that I have the advantage.

Even if I don't manage anything else here, even if I don't manage to collect my own supplies, I absolutely _must_ take whatever the Gamemakers have provided for District 2.

As the first traces of sunlight appear on the horizon, I find myself crouched by the edge of the clearing, a couple of hundred metres from the golden horn of the Cornucopia, using the undergrowth to keep my position hidden from the others. I am certain that everyone left alive in the arena will be converging on the Cornucopia this morning.

With little else to do, I crouch hidden in the shadows, tucking my sword away behind my back; I want my arms free to move, to give me the easiest and fastest sprint possible. More than ever, time will be of the essence when the feast begins.

With my preparations complete, there's little else to do but wait.

Thankfully, the Gamemakers don't keep me waiting for long.

Just a few minutes later, I watch as the first rays of sunlight fall on the glistening metal of the Cornucopia, and see the small round table rise out of the ground at its mouth. On the table lie four backpacks, each numbered for one of the surviving districts. Two, Five, Eleven, Twelve.

I'm on my feet, ready to burst from my cover, when I'm stopped by the sight of Ashleen, the girl from District 5, sprinting out from within the Cornucopia, hoisting her bag onto her back, and sprinting away into the trees before anyone can stop her. Who would dare chase after her now, with our bags still lying on the table? I haven't even considered her being a threat in these Games, more a lucky survivor than anything, but clearly I have misjudged her. Once I'm through this, Ashleen might be more of a threat than I had considered.

However, with Ashleen having hidden within the horn itself, it's clear that Cato and Clove didn't camp out at the Cornucopia, as I had feared. The feast table is now clear, and I know with certainty that I need to be the next tribute to reach the table.

I burst from the trees almost before I'm aware of it, but as I break into a sprint I notice two other tributes - Katniss and Clove - making the same journey from the other side of the Cornucopia, their paths slightly shorter than mine. Distracted with each other, I hope to make up time as they scrap with each other, knives and arrows flying between them.

Eventually I see Clove get the better of her foe twenty miles from the table; I can't say I'm surprised. A victorious grin is on her smug face as her knees pin Katniss' shoulders to the floor. It's exactly the distraction that I need to reach the feast unnoticed.

I'm just reaching the table when Clove's disgustingly arrogant, playful sneer begins to reach me.

"Forget it, District Twelve," I hear her say, taunting her victim. "We're going to kill you. Just like we did your pathetic little ally... What was her name? The one who hopped around in the trees? Rue?"

At the sound of my fallen district partner's name, my attention instantly switches to the girl from Two, the bounty at the feast temporarily forgotten. Rue's death is a raw wound I never expected to have, and one that I can't bear to hear her exploit. _If she did anything to Rue..._

I watch Clove pull a knife from her jacket as I stride towards her, the anger towards her and the other Careers building by the second, my blood thundering in my ears. I'm so angry I don't even think to pull out my sword before I reach her, instead grabbing a heavy, smooth rock from the ground at the last second.

Clove is so distracted by her sadistic fun that she doesn't notice me approach her, isn't aware of me until I grab her by the back of the neck and hold her above the ground, screaming. I throw Clove down on the floor away from Katniss and she scrambles backwards away from me, terrified as I advance towards her. A lifelong hatred of everything the Careers stand for surges through me; a hatred of everything they've done to boys and girls like me, to Rue. It all condenses into a hatred for this one girl.

"What'd you do to that little girl?" I shout at her. "You kill her?"

Clove looks positively terrified, but despite her fear, I can only feel my fury rising. "No!" she whimpers. "No, it wasn't me!"

"You said her name," I challenge her. "I heard you. You kill her?" A thought rushes through my mind, focusing on the scene I just witnessed, leaving me feeling sick. "You cut her up like you were going to cut up this girl here?"

I'm gesturing violently, getting dangerously angry in a way I haven't in years. At my size, it was important I learnt to control my violent outbursts when I was young. But here in the arena, I need no such censorship.

"No!" Clove begs. "No, I-"

Her eyes finally rest on the heavy rock in my hand. I still daren't reach for my sword.

"Cato!" she screams, desperate for help. " _Cato!_ "

There is no time to question my actions. I just have to act.

I stride forward purposefully, reaching for the girl from Two, crashing the rock in my hand down into her head as hard as I can. There's a sickening crunch and Clove collapses to the ground, moaning softly. From the way that her skull has caved in, I'm sure the wound will be fatal.

It is the first time I have killed someone in my life, but all that I can think about is how enraged I am.

Struggling to control myself, I try to force the emotion to pass as I hear Cato calling Clove's name as he rushes to her aid, bursting from the trees a few hundred metres away. I turn around with the rock still raised in my hand to find Katniss still on the floor, apparently terrified. I know I have two options and need a quick decision; to kill her, or to run. But I find that I can't help talking to her. In the twilight of my rage, I need to find out more.

"What'd she mean?" I ask her forcefully. "About Rue being your ally?"

When she replies, her voice is small and timid. I can tell she's shook up. Nothing like the confident girl I saw in the Capitol.

"I - I - we teamed up. Blew up the supplies. I tried to save her, I did. But he got there first. District One."

I remember the two cannons firing together, replay the scenes in my head. It seems to fit together...

"And you killed him?" I demand. If she was truly on Rue's side, that's the least she could have done.

"Yes. I killed him," she replies, gaining confidence now. "And buried her in flowers. I sang her to sleep." At that, I see genuine pain on her face. A pain I know all too well.

"To sleep?"

"To death. I sang until she died. Your district... They sent me bread." Katniss looks up at me bravely. "Do it fast, OK, Thresh?"

After all this, she thinks I'm going to kill her, just as I did Clove. I know that, in the Games, it's what I'm expected to do. What I need to do, even. But somehow, I can't bear to kill her. Perhaps it's because she's unarmed and not a threat to me, but I think I understand that really, I'm grateful that she was brave enough to do something I was too much of a coward to do.

Offer help to a brave little girl who needed it.

And for that, Katniss Everdeen has my respect, and a debt from me.

So today, we'll both part and head our own ways back into obscurity.

"Just this one time, I let you go," I tell Katniss, pointing at her, hoping that clearly understands my message. "For the little girl. You and me, we're even then. No more owed. You understand?"

Katniss nods, something I barely have time to notice before the proximity of Cato's voice tells me that I need to leave. Leaving Katniss behind on the floor, I dash to the table, grabbing both of the largest backpacks, labelled for Districts 2 and 11. The pain in Cato's voice tells me he's worried for Clove, that he'll likely stay with her as long as he can, giving me a chance to get away.

With little else to do, I head back away from the clearing into the wheat fields, knowing that soon, Sextus Cato will be forced to follow me into my domain.

And when we finally do fight, it will be on my terms.

 _Bring it on, Cato. Bring it on._

* * *

 **A/N: This chapter ended up being surprisingly difficult to write, but I still hope that it was enjoyable to read :)**

 **If you did enjoy this chapter, please review! As ever, constructive criticism is welcomed :)**

 **I hope to be back with the next chapter at the weekend - there are just three left now! :)**


	22. The English Summer

**A/N: Thanks to codedriver, Santiago poncini20 and melliemoo for reviewing the last chapter! :)**

 **This chapter has been the most challenging to write to date, simply because of how much my hands are tied while I write it. I experienced the same issue when I wrote for this character during 75 Games, 75 Victors, 75 Oneshots, where she featured in two chapters (75 and 94, if anyone is interested in reading them again).**

 **Still, I hope that you all enjoy today's chapter :)**

* * *

 **"There's an animal inside of me**

 **And he's feeding off every word you say**

 **He pulls my hair, he coerces me**

 **Into a world where romance is just a game."**

 **\- Matthew Murphy, 2015.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Two**

 **Katniss Everdeen (16), District 12 Female**

 **1.30 pm, Sunday 2nd August, Day 15 of the 74th Hunger Games**

 **The Wombats - The English Summer (2015)**

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The weather has finally broken.

After a fortnight of the Gamemakers ramping up the heat during the searing days and freezing us through brutal nights, I woke yesterday to a colossal thunderstorm. In the day since then, the rain hasn't let up for a second.

It's been almost a week since Rue died, but in the arena it feels like much more time has passed. So much has changed since those days, when I was free to roam the arena. For much of the time since then, I've been caring for Peeta, although right now neither of us are in any shape to be travelling around the arena.

I found Peeta the day after Claudius Templesmith's announcement, hiding by the river, starving and half-dead from infection. It turns out that he came back to save me from Cato after I dropped the tracker jacker nest on him, and he paid the price for turning on the Careers. Apparently he was only in the Career alliance in an attempt to stop them from killing me. He did it all for me.

No wonder he managed to convince the Gamemakers that a rule change would be needed.

Peeta's currently asleep beside me, huddled up within the sleeping bag that offers us our only warmth in the small cave we've settled into. Occasionally he stirs, but he's been largely still all day. He was up half the night attending to me.

There's a certain irony in me suffering a vicious head wound while picking up the medication that has almost certainly saved Peeta's life. In the two days since the feast, his condition has improved considerably. Another day of rest and maybe, just maybe, we'll be able to get out of here and be proactive again. After all, we're the only two tributes alive in the arena from the same district. In theory at least, we have the advantage.

Following Clove's death at the feast, there are just three other tributes standing between us and victory; the obvious threats of Cato and Thresh, and the more elusive girl from Five I've been calling Foxface. My encounters with Foxface have been minimal, and I've known of Cato's power and his animosity for weeks, but most of my thoughts are directed back towards Thresh, the male tribute from District 11.

At the feast, when Clove had me pinned to the floor and was busy planning what was likely to be a very painful death, Thresh came to my rescue. He killed Clove with brute force to be expected from someone of his size, but chose to spare me. Because he overheard that I had been there for Rue. There's no exact science to compassion and debts, but Thresh felt that he owed me, for the way that I had treated Rue. That my compassion in helping her when she needed someone could be returned by him sparing me at the feast.

I will forever be grateful for his decision, but the first gift is always the hardest to pay back. If I meet Thresh again in the arena as an enemy, how am I ever going to be able to kill him, when he has already spared me once? He might feel like we're even, but I'm not sure if I agree with him.

Cato, who seems as unpredictable as they come, must surely be on his tail somewhere, most probably back in the fields of long grass that Peeta has told me lie beyond the ridge north of the Cornucopia. Regardless of whether he knew her before the Games - and his actions at the feast suggest to me that he might have - Cato will be taking Clove's loss hard. She was his easy ticket out of here; the two of them together would have been almost unstoppable.

Judging from his actions after I managed to blow up his alliance's supplies last week, I can only imagine that Cato's fury will be unmatched when he finally meets another tribute.

If I want to return home to my family, my real hope is that Peeta and I can survive for long enough to recover from our wounds, and that we'll be able to use the numbers game to our advantage, finding a way to win.

However, being able to survive that long is going to be a challenge. At least, for me.

We have all the medication we need to get recover, thanks to my daring at the feast and generous sponsors, but while I remain tethered to Peeta (who can still barely walk) I'm unable to provide us with enough food to live by hunting. I daren't go further than a hundred yards from our cave; I can't afford to leave Peeta alone, as vulnerable as he is.

And so, we've been surviving off food I gathered before the feast, and an abundance of sponsor support. Clearly the _star-crossed lover_ angle that Peeta hit gold with during the interviews has been a massive success in the Capitol. So popular, in fact, that I dare say the rule change this year is entirely down to Peeta's actions in the Games. It doesn't surprise me, given the circumstances, that we always seem to have enough food to go by.

However, I'm also aware that the continuation of sponsor support is dependent on Peeta and I keeping up our end of the deal, with this pretend romance. For whatever reason, Peeta's a natural at acting this out; maybe he's had more experience with other girls than I can remember, although to the cameras he always claims he's had eyes for nobody else but me. There are times where he almost convinces _me_ that he means it.

But for me, where the concept of love is as alien as the concept of learning to fly, I can't help feeling like I drop the ball at all the wrong moments, leaving our exchanges feeling awkward and forced. Maybe Haymitch, our mentor and District 12's only living victor, will notice these mistakes, but I can only assume that the Capitol public haven't.

The only other thing Haymitch has shown me is how much our survival is depending on our 'romance'; we only get given food when we've given the audience a reason to care. He might not be able to say anything to us directly, but the timing of his gifts tells me more than anyone could imagine. If I want to keep Peeta and myself alive, I've got to keep up the work.

In the quieter moments, such as this lazy, rainy afternoon where I am sure all of the tributes are sheltered away in their own hideouts, waiting out the storm, I wonder what the reaction to my dynamic with Peeta is like at home in District 12.

I can only imagine that my mother will see straight through my act; if the circumstances weren't so dire, she'd probably be laughing at my expense for this pretend romance. Perhaps Prim would be, too. And I'm sure our arrangement would be the subject of much gossip among the regulars at the hob.

As for Gale... I have no idea how he will react, should Peeta and I both make it home. The one thing I do know, is that I am sure he will know that I am doing what any other tribute is expected to do. To do whatever it takes to win, by any means necessary.

And if that means fooling a nation into thinking I love my district partner, then so be it.

I'll do it for Prim, for my mother. For Gale, for Madge; even for Haymitch, who has helped me more than I could have imagined in the last few weeks. For Rue.

And, because I may as well admit it to myself now, I'll do it for Peeta. Because after everything we've been through together, I can't help but care about him. Perhaps not in the way that everyone believes I do, but I do care about the boy with the bread. I do.

Together, we'll find a way to get out of here alive. I just know it.

* * *

 **A/N: This chapter has been shorter than many, but there's not really much more I can add here... Like my other chapters from Katniss' perspective, it's been more of a ramble, demonstrating her mindset in the arena, as I can't write about any major events in her perspective; Suzanne Collins has already covered all of those...**

 **Anyway, if you did enjoy this chapter, please review! As ever, constructive criticism is welcomed :)**

 **P.S. Just two chapters left...**


	23. Hold Me in Your Arms

**A/N: Again, it's been a long time since I've written anything for this site, but I've had an urge to put down original fiction and begin writing on here once more. So here's a chapter telling the story of a character I began fleshing out many years ago, told for the first time through his perspective.**

 **This is a scene that I've wanted to write for years, and it largely turned out as I'd imagined it many years ago. I hope you all enjoy the chapter :)**

* * *

 **"I will not back down to anything or anyone**

 **You cannot contend 'cause in my head I'm number one."**

 **Colin MacDonald, 2008.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Three**

 **Sextus Aurelius Cato (18), District 2 Male**

 **4.00 pm, Sunday 2nd August, Day 15 of the 74th Annual Hunger Games**

 **The Trews - Hold Me in Your Arms (2008)**

* * *

It's been two days since the feast.

It's been two days since Clove Stephenson died.

For the first time, I am alone in the arena, but I don't mind. The son and grandson of the two greatest victors Panem has ever seen, these final days in the arena are what I have been training my whole life for, to define my legacy.

I just wish Clove was here with me.

For the two days since the feast, when Thresh, the graceless mountain of a boy who ended her life, ran away into the wheat fields to the north of the arena, I've known what I must do. I don't care that I'm forcing the issue, and will likely be confronting Thresh on his terms and not my own. I cannot get the image of Clove's broken body out of my mind.

By the time I reached her, she was already too far gone. Broken and battered, unconscious and barely breathing, there was nothing I could do but watch her drift away. Her last words to me ringing in my ears, spoken as she looked back at me for a final time, breaking from cover into the fracas at the feast.

" _I'll take care of Twelve._ "

It took the cannon to blast overhead for me to finally believe she was gone. Kneeling in the dirt beside her body, the most tortured part of my mind demanded that I give her a proper burial there and then, to give her the send-off she deserved. But I didn't have a monopoly on loving her. There are others back home in Two who would want to pay their respects.

As I closed her eyes and stood to turn away from the woman I loved, the grief cleared from my mind and focused into a burning rage, driving me after one man. Whatever concerns I had with District 12 being the most dangerous threat in the arena, they were cast to one side immediately.

The most important thing to me in this Hunger Games is now making sure that Thresh doesn't get out of here alive.

I've been stalking the fields of long grass for the past two days; the first in the burning sun, the past day through torrential rain. I don't care that there's no cover, that my shirt is sodden and clings to my chest. I don't care that there are likely hidden mutts waiting to strike in the long grass. I don't even care that I wouldn't know how to harvest food from any of these plants, the way that Thresh does. I'm a Cato; I have all the sponsor support I need.

Over the last day, the ground has gotten increasingly soft underfoot, turning uneven footing into a slippery marsh. A wrong step and it takes fifteen seconds to pull my boot out. Travel is slow, and in an area almost as large as the woodland I've largely been confined to, hunting one tribute has been a real task.

Finally, after two days of travelling, this afternoon I have reached the edge of a large lake that disappears northwards towards the horizon. I'm fairly certain this is the arena's edge. The land drops away, sloping down towards the choppy water; what would have been barren and dusty land is now a muddy shore.

Along this shore is where I see Thresh for the first time since the feast; perhaps half a mile west of me along the shore. A blurry figure barely recognisable through the heavy rain, identified by the glint of his sword, already drawn for a fight.

As much as I'm desperate to sprint along the shore and strike his head from his shoulders, I've got enough sense about me to make him travel to me. I've come this far for him. Desperate as I am, I'm not walking into a trap. He can travel this last leg to me.

And he does, moving remarkably well through the mud for a man of our size. I notice that he dropped his supplies, the two heavy backpacks he took at the feast, on the ground behind him. My prize once this is over.

There are five tributes left alive in the arena, although I'd wager we'll be down to four within the hour. If nothing else comes of this battle, if Thresh manages to take me down with him, then at least Clove will be avenged.

Thresh stops ten metres from me, sword drawn. He's probably got three or four inches on me, and possibly twenty or thirty pounds. He's certainly bulkier, but I'm more athletic, and there is no question who is the better trained.

The only two swords left in the arena rest in our weapon hands.

Battered by the wind and the rain, spray crashing up from waves hitting the steep shore, I can barely hear Thresh as he shouts at me.

"Finally dared come to find me, Two?"

"You should have stayed at the Cornucopia and fought me like a man," I spit back.

Thresh doesn't say anything; he just shrugs, turning the hilt of his sword in his hand.

"If you thought there was any way I wasn't going to find you and cut you down after what you did to Clove, you were wrong," I tell him, gripping my own blade tighter.

"She deserved what she got," Thresh shouts back, his eyes showing emotion to me for the first time. "After what you all did to Rue."

"I don't even know who Rue is," I reply. Most likely she was the girl from his district. I guess Marvel got to her after he ran from us.

"Your lot killed her," Thresh shouts, raising his blade to lunge at me, " You _monsters-_ "

I duck to one side to avoid Thresh's charge, spinning in the slick mud as he crashes past me, struggling to slow on the surface.

"Me, a monster?" I shout back, pursuing Thresh, our blades striking each other as he turns, spinning in the mud. "After what you did to Clove?"

Thresh doesn't reply, but pushes towards me, almost overpowering me with his next strike as I slip backwards. This is a battle that will be won by whoever keeps on their feet for the longest.

His next strike again forces me to block, the blades jarring together, vibrating down to my cold, numb hands. I do well to keep a grip on my sword, but swiftly turn defence into attack, taking a swipe at Thresh's legs. He jumps out of the way, but almost loses his footing as he lands; I sense the opportunity to apply pressure.

He blocks well at first, but with my expert strikes he barely has a moment to rest. I'm slowly pushing him down the bank towards the water. Eventually our blades clash heavily as I go in for a two-handed strike, clattering out of both of our hands into the mud. Thresh turns to start running along the bank, fumbling with something in his belt.

With our swords discarded, I waste no time reaching for the spear tied to my back and hurl it after him.

Thresh drops beneath it with an ungainly crash to the ground, and the spear flies off into the lake.

 _So much for getting that back..._

Twenty yards from me, Thresh flounders in the thick mud as I advance towards him, pulling my final weapon, a small serrated knife, from my belt. He kicks out as I reach him, taking my ankle from under me as I fall to the ground beside him.

I land face first, mud covering my eyes and lodging in my nose. In the time it takes me to use the back of my hand to wipe my eyes, Thresh is on top of me, his hands on my shoulders as he pushes me into the ground, pinning me.

My knife is just out of the reach of my right hand.

"This is for Rue," Thresh says as he punches my jaw, his voice barely audible over the rain and the crashing waves. I gasp, my head knocked from one side to the other. I'm panting as he strikes me again, struggling for air just a few inches out of the mud, spray from the waves crashing across my face and stinging my eyes.

As Thresh reaches back to strike for a third time, I shuffle slightly beneath him to work a leg free, then kick him hard between the legs. He gasps and curses, giving me just long enough to reach for the knife in the mud.

It barely takes me a second to bury it under his ribs.

Thresh grunts in shock, falling limp on top of me. I heave him off of me, pushing him into the mud.

"That was for Clove," I tell him, twisting the knife as I pull it out, straddling him as I push his head into the mud at the water's edge.

As I've always been told, you only need a puddle to drown.

I drive my knife into his back just beneath his shoulder blades - he's so out of it he barely flinches - and push his head under. He struggles for a few moments, his legs kicking pathetically behind me, but then they fall still.

I don't let go until I hear the cannon.

Pulling the knife from his back, I push his body into the lake, to be taken by the water. I'm caked in mud from head to toe, struggling for breath and, unfortunately, a weapon down. Picking up my sword, slowly stumbling towards the supplies Thresh stole from me at the feast, I feel a tremendous relief knowing that I did what I needed to do to avenge Clove. Thresh didn't get away with it.

But Clove is worth more than the life of one boy from the poorer districts. To truly have her remembered, to make her death more than just a number, I need to win the Games. To make her name tied to mine, as it always should have been, I need to make my name unforgettable.

It's time to get out of this mire and back to the woods where I belong; where my enemies are.

Just three tributes stand between me and victory.

Thankfully, I am Sextus Aurelius Cato, the sixth male of the Cato lineage.

Winning is in our DNA.

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 **A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! Constructive criticism is welcomed :)**

 **I'm sure you can all work out who's left for the next chapter...**


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